Rendezvous
by dust on the wind
Summary: This assignment had to work, if Newkirk was ever to regain the ground he had lost. But nobody could have imagined it would go so wrong...
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

_The narrative picks up some time after the episode "Sticky Wicket Newkirk"._

* * *

Six weeks had passed, and Newkirk was still on the outer.

He could hardly complain about it. He'd made a total cock-up of things; had compromised his own safety and everyone else's; in fact, had nearly given the whole operation away to the Gestapo. And all over a woman. Even now, every so often the sheer stupidity of it struck him like a slap in the face.

Still, at first he had thought it would blow over. Colonel Hogan and the rest would get over it, and things would be back to normal. And on the surface, they were, once the tunnel he'd had to close off with dynamite had been reopened. The regular routine of Stalag 13 continued; they assisted Allied servicemen on their way back to England, they carried out sabotage, they gathered information.

But it wasn't the same; not as far as Newkirk was concerned anyway. His error in judgement had been too great, and the results too serious, to be overlooked. Outside operations, even those as simple and routine as meeting escaping POWs and bringing them back to camp, were assigned to LeBeau, Carter or Kinch. Newkirk stayed within bounds, tailoring, forging documents, occasionally allowed the mild indulgence of accessing Klink's safe. And that, he suspected, was only because nobody else in camp had the knack.

He felt he wasn't trusted. Fair enough; he no longer quite trusted himself.

Within a short time he'd started to suspect he wasn't just on probation; much as he resisted it, he couldn't shake the thought that the situation might be permanent. But still, he couldn't really complain.

He did, of course, vigorously and indignantly, after a couple of weeks. Hogan heard him out calmly, without comment; and when he had finished, the colonel said, quite reasonably, "That's how it's going to be, Newkirk. Until I'm satisfied you're never doing that again. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, sir," Newkirk replied, when he could control his voice. "No problem at all." Thereafter he kept his head down, did what was required of him, and asked no questions.

What hurt him most - apart from one other thing, which he hardly even admitted to himself, let alone anyone else - was that it wasn't just Hogan. The other guys didn't quite trust him, either. Carter was nearer than anyone else to getting back on their old footing; they played cards, or draughts, and talked about home, and the weather, and all kinds of everyday things, but there was always a sense of reserve, as there was with Kinch and LeBeau, whenever the subject of work came up.

And as for the other matter, well, there was no point in dwelling on it. As far as everyone was concerned, she had just been another Gestapo plant, and good riddance to her. Newkirk accepted that. After all, he hadn't actually fallen for her, not really, so she hadn't betrayed anything more important than his trust; and anyway, it was over and done with, since the Gestapo had taken her away. But still, most nights as he lay wide awake, waiting for the others to get back from whatever harassment of the enemy they were engaging in, it was Gretel who occupied his thoughts.

It might have been another six weeks, or six months, or even longer, before he was entrusted with anything, if this meeting hadn't come up, and hadn't been so urgent, or if anyone else had been available. The message arrived just as Hogan, LeBeau and Carter were on the point of leaving for the night's raid. "London says the meeting has to take place tonight, Colonel," said Kinch, relaying the news.

"But, Colonel, if we don't take out the anti-aircraft battery at Weizenfeld, before our bombers get there..." Carter protested. He wasn't fooling anyone; ensuring the safe passage of the bombers was important, but his main preoccupation was with the series of explosions he had planned so meticulously, and was looking forward to with such joyful anticipation.

"I know, Carter," Hogan replied. "Kinch, try London again, see if there's any chance we can put the meeting off for twenty-four hours."

"I already asked, Colonel. No can do. The contact is under surveillance, and may have to leave Hammelburg at a moment's notice."

"_Mon Colonel_," interrupted LeBeau, "we're already running late, we should be halfway to Weizenfeld by now."

Hogan still deliberated for a few seconds before making a decision. "Okay. Kinch, brief Newkirk on the meeting. Tell him to get a motorcycle from the motor pool. He's to go directly to the hotel, make contact, get the information and come straight back here. He'll need a German uniform and papers. And Kinch - make sure he understands, one wrong step on this one, and he doesn't set foot outside Stalag 13 again for the duration."

"I'll tell him, don't worry," said Kinch grimly.

In spite of having to go out in miserable weather, and in spite of Kinch's evident disapproval, Newkirk couldn't help but feel his spirits rising at finally getting something to do. In fact, he was more cheerful than he had been at any time within the last six weeks.

"Okay, I'll go through it once more," Kinch said, handing him his ID papers. "The meeting is in the restaurant of the Hotel Alte Residenz at eleven thirty. The recognition code is, _Were you in Bayreuth in August? _To which you reply, _No, I went to Salzburg for the festival_."

"I still want to know who came up with that one," murmured Newkirk, brushing some tunnel dust from the lapel of his _Luftwaffe_ uniform.

"Some music lover in London, probably. Newkirk, just pay attention, okay?"

"I'm listening."

Kinch held back his rising irritation, and continued with the briefing. "The contact will give you the names of three enemy agents operating within the British intelligence service. Once you have the information, you come straight back here. Got it?"

"I've got it, Kinch. I've got it," replied Newkirk soothingly. "I'll be back in plenty of time. Only it's nice to get out for a bit. It's been a while, you know."

"Your own fault, Newkirk," observed Kinch. "And Colonel Hogan says if you mess up this time, it'll be an even longer while before you get another chance. So watch yourself."

"Kinch, I'm not barmy. Trust me. It'll go like clockwork."

It was almost four in the morning when the sabotage team returned. Carter was still in the state of barely suppressed glee which generally followed a successful operation, and didn't seem to notice how quiet the colonel was. LeBeau, uneasily aware of Hogan's tension, had spent most of the return journey fielding as much of Carter's enthusiastic babbling as possible.

Kinch was still in the radio room, but not on the radio. He was leaning forward with his elbow on the table, and his head resting on his hand. Hogan pressed his lips together, holding back the first words that rose to the surface, then said, in a soft, dangerous voice which even cut through Carter's exuberant mood, "Is he back yet?"

"No, Colonel," said Kinch. He laced his fingers together, put his hands on the desk, and looked down at them.

Nobody said a word. Carter's face fell, and LeBeau glanced apprehensively at the colonel.

"When he gets back," Hogan said, at last, "tell him I want to see him." He headed for the barracks.

"He may not get back."

Kinch's voice was almost expressionless. Hogan stopped in his tracks, and turned slowly. Kinch still didn't meet his eyes, but after a moment, he continued. "I had radio contact from the submarine, with a message from London. The bombing raid on Weizenfeld was diverted due to the weather. They redirected to the secondary target, the main rail yard at Hammelburg. Then we got another message to say a couple of the bombers overshot the target."

A shocked silence had fallen, as the others began to realise what he was telling them. LeBeau put a hand over his mouth, and Carter shook his head just slightly, in instinctive rejection. Only the colonel remained perfectly still, waiting.

Kinch looked up at last. He looked weary, as if for once the night had been longer than he could stand. "I've been trying to reach someone - anyone at all - in Hammelburg, for the last couple of hours. I finally got through to Blackbird, ten minutes ago. I'm sorry, Colonel. He's heard there was a direct hit on the Hotel Alte Residenz."


	2. Chapter 2

Even from a distance it was obvious that the Hotel Alte Residenz was several degrees up the scale from the Hauserhof. Newkirk may not have known his Biedermeier from his Bauhaus, but he knew a classy piece of architecture when he saw it.

He strolled into the hotel as if he owned the place. He never quite managed to look as authoritative in German uniform as Hogan, nor even as natural as Carter, but he still made a convincing _Luftwaffe_ captain, as he passed through the foyer. At least he didn't attract attention, and that was the main thing.

He was halfway to the door leading into the restaurant when he realised that the man standing at the foot of the stairs, talking to a woman, was familiar to him. More than familiar; he knew Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo better than he cared to, and what was worse, Hochstetter knew him. Newkirk slowed his pace, casually redirecting his steps to the other side of a row of slender, delicately ornamented pillars.

If there was any chance of Hochstetter seeing him, this meeting was over before it had begun. But Hochstetter continued his conversation, so focused on his companion, who was well worth the attention, that Newkirk, keeping his face turned away and not going too close, was able to walk straight past him to reach the restaurant.

_Blimey, she's a bit out of Hochstetter's league_, he thought. Then again, it could be just business. Nasty business. Hochstetter didn't get involved in any other kind.

The restaurant was, if anything, more extravagant than the lobby he had just crossed. He ordered a _Schnapps_ and sat down to wait, keeping an eye on the door in case Hochstetter followed him in, but the major didn't appear.

It was just on half past eleven. Newkirk looked casually around the room. He had no idea what his contact looked like; his instructions hadn't included any such information. There were quite a few people there, but most of them seemed to be in groups of two or three. Possibly the informant wasn't there yet.

A woman came through the door; a real stunner. Newkirk felt a chill go down his spine, as she gazed around, caught sight of him, and then, with a particularly graceful bearing, walked towards him. He looked away, waiting for her to pass by, hoping she would just keep going. But she didn't.

"Please excuse me, but I think we might be acquainted," she said. "Were you in Bayreuth in August?"

The recognition code. She was the contact. The chill down Newkirk's back turned to ice. She was the woman he'd just seen talking to Hochstetter.

If he gave the correct response, and she was with the Gestapo, then he was done for, and possibly the whole Stalag 13 operation along with him. But if he didn't pick up the cue, and she was on the level...

"No," he heard himself saying, "I went to Salzburg. For the festival."

He was committed now; no way out of it.

She took a seat opposite him. One of those pale blondes, with delicately formed features and very dark blue eyes; slender in build, and dressed in a floating cloud of silvery-grey silk chiffon. She gave no sign of the nervous tension which was usual in such situations, but Newkirk had enough for both of them.

"You've got some information for me," he said quietly.

"I have. But I can't speak here." She gave him a little friendly smile, as if they were old friends. "I don't want to be overheard. I have a suite, on the fourth floor. We can talk there."

_Oh, that's just perfect. All my dreams have just come true, and it's likely to turn into a ruddy nightmare._

"Sorry. Not a chance," said Newkirk.

Her expression didn't change, but a note of irritation entered her voice as she replied. "Do you understand that anyone here might be an informer? If they hear us speaking, and realise you are English - yes, I can tell, it's not very difficult." So he'd been caught out again; Gretel had said much the same thing, once.

The woman was still talking. "There was a Gestapo officer in the foyer just now. He has been watching me since I arrived here. I don't dare risk it. Either we talk in private, or we don't talk."

"Is he still there?"

"No, but he'll be back."

Hochstetter, of course. This situation had nearly all the elements of a complete disaster. Newkirk quickly considered his options. If he was ever to make up the ground he had lost with the rest of the team, he had to get it right on this assignment, but he could just imagine Colonel Hogan's face, when he reported back. _Yes, sir, I made contact, and she asked me to come upstairs with her, and..._ No, better not try to explain. Just get the information and get out of here.

"Fine," he said. "We'll do it your way."

He made a quick survey of the lobby as they passed through, bypassing the stairs and heading towards the ornate cage elevator. It didn't look as if Hochstetter had left anyone on surveillance; only the hotel staff were there. They obviously held his companion in high regard, and the concierge, who wouldn't have recognised Newkirk socially, gave her a gracious half-bow on sight. She seemed accustomed to it, and didn't even nod in reply.

"Pardon me for asking," murmured Newkirk, "but won't they think it's odd, you taking a strange man up to your room?"

She gave him a sideways look, with a distracting up-and down sweep of long lashes. "I imagine they'd think it odd if I didn't." This was getting dangerous, in a completely unexpected direction. Two months earlier, and he'd have been falling over himself for a few minutes alone with a woman like this, but Gretel had changed everything.

As the lift ascended she turned those blue eyes on him again. "What am I to call you?" she asked.

"Bachmann." That was the name on his papers, and the only name she was getting, until he knew how much she had to do with Hochstetter. "Captain Franz Bachmann, _Luftwaffe_."

"And your real name?"

"You haven't told me yours yet. Fair's fair."

She seemed to accept his logic. "My friends call me Elise."

"And mine call me Franz," replied Newkirk.

"I see. You don't trust me," she said, with a mocking smile

"In this game, it's better not to trust anyone," he murmured, and for the life of him he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

When they reached Elise's suite, Newkirk had to suppress a whistle. This had to be one of the best rooms in Hammelburg; a work of art, in olive green and dull gold, although the heavy blackout covering the windows rather spoiled the effect. It seemed almost oppressively opulent, given what he was used to.

"Please, sit down," said Elise. "There are a few things we need to discuss."

She had switched from German to English, and Newkirk followed suit. He didn't take up her suggestion, but stayed close to the door. "Look, love, tempting though it may be, I don't have time to play games. Just give me the names, and then I can be on my way."

"It's not that simple," she replied. "I have the names, but there's a price."

He cast up his eyes. "Of course there is. I might have known. Let's hear it, then."

Elise sat in one of the low chairs. "A glass of wine would help, don't you think?"

It sounded like a delaying tactic. No way was Newkirk going along with it. "No," he said, without ceremony. "Now stop messing me about. What is it you want?"

She gave him a long, calculating look. "The climate in this part of the world isn't very healthy. I think a change of scenery would be good for me."

Newkirk shook his head. "Why is it, you people always want out of Germany? It's your own fault. You're the ones that put the freak in charge of the circus."

"This is no laughing matter," said Elise. "It's getting too dangerous for me to stay here. And I really could do with that glass of wine."

Newkirk regarded her in silence for a moment, then walked over to the window, where a decanter, and a couple of crystal wine glasses, stood on a low cabinet. He poured a glass of wine, and brought it to her. "I'm going to need to know more," he told her.

"As you said, fair's fair. You don't trust me; I don't know if I can trust you. But I know you must have contacts who can get me out of the country. Once you take me to those people, I'll give you the information, but not before."

_Right. As if I'm taking you anywhere near Stalag 13, sweetheart._

He couldn't quite put it so bluntly. For once in his life, he needed to be tactful. "It's doesn't work like that. First I speak to the governor, and if he okays it, then I take you there."

"Then speak to your governor," she replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"You really don't have a clue, do you?" he snapped back. So much for tact. Elise's colour rose, and she gave him a sharp, hostile look, eyes very bright, lips pressed together.

"All right, I'm sorry," said Newkirk. "But in our line of work, you bring someone home before they've been thoroughly checked out, and the next thing you know the Gestapo are knocking on the door. I learned that the hard way." He broke off abruptly; he hadn't meant to say that. Holding back the rest of what he'd been about to tell her, he walked back to the window. "Look, I can't just pick up the phone and get through to him. I have to report back, in person, and if he gives the okay, then I come back for you."

"By that time I may not be here." She was looking down at the half-full glass in her hand. She didn't look frightened, but the teasing note had gone from her voice. "I told you there was a Gestapo officer. His name is Hochstetter. I knew him when he was based in Berlin."

"How well?" asked Newkirk, after a very long pause.

"Quite well," replied Elise. "I married his brother."

Newkirk exhaled so sharply that it made his ribs hurt. He turned to the window, hardly aware of what he was doing, and pushed a corner of the blackout aside, giving him a view of the street below. This was unbelievable. Every time he thought things couldn't get any worse, she proved him wrong.

"And where's your husband now?" he asked, trying to keep calm.

"Still in Berlin. He's been passing information to British intelligence for the last two years. We've just been warned by a friend in his department that he's come under suspicion. Tomorrow morning he's to set off for Copenhagen for a staff meeting, but he'll try to get to Sweden instead. That's one reason I had to make contact tonight. As soon as Stefan is known to have left the Reich, they will be looking for me."

Newkirk was still looking out of the window. The rain had cleared, at last. A military staff car, and then an army truck, pulled up in front of the hotel.

"I don't want to worry you, princess," he said, "but I think they might be looking already."

The truck had already disgorged a dozen SS men. And one of the Gestapo officers who got out of the car looked very like Major Hochstetter.


	3. Chapter 3

Newkirk moved back from the window as soon as he saw Hochstetter in the street below. Elise quickly stood up, spilling the wine onto the carpet, but as she started forward, he held up a hand. "Stay there."

He edged forward and looked out again. Hochstetter was no longer in sight. Presumably he had already entered the building. Two of his men were still at the entrance, and others would be securing other exit points.

"We've probably got less than a minute to get out before they have the place sealed off," said Newkirk. "So no point in trying. Nice trick, love, keeping me busy while your brother-in-law went and got himself organised. You should get a medal for it."

She looked startled, then as she grasped his meaning, colour swept across her face. "You really think I would do that?"

"I call it as I see it, princess." Newkirk went to the door, and opened it just enough to check the corridor. Nobody there yet, but they were certain to arrive within minutes. There was probably little chance of making it out of the hotel, but if he could get to another part of the building, it might gain him some time to come up with a plan. He had brought a gun with him, but he doubted it would be of much use, not against that many of them.

"You can't leave me here," said Elise. Her voice was unsteady; whether from anger or fear, Newkirk neither knew nor cared.

"Oh, yes, I can," he replied. Then he took in the expression on her face, and reconsidered. Either she was a very good actress indeed, or she was genuinely frightened.

He'd believed Gretel, too, and look where that had got him.

As he hesitated, she took a step forward. "Captain Godfrey Adgett, RAF Intelligence," she said. "I will give you the other names when you bring me to your home base." Then, as he still didn't speak, she added desperately, "Wolfgang found out what Stefan has been doing. It could destroy him, as well as us. He'll do whatever it takes to save himself."

Newkirk's thoughts were racing, trying to find some way out of this disaster, but still a tiny part of his mind fastened on the most inconsequential detail of what she had just said: _Wolfgang? Hochstetter's got a first name?_

He had to make a decision. They probably had no more than two minutes before Hochstetter and his men were breaking down the door. "Is there another staircase, apart from the one from the lobby?" he asked.

"There's a back stair, used by the housekeeping staff. To the right, at the far end."

He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave her to Hochstetter. It was probably another mistake, but if she was on the level, then the man would take her apart. "They may already have it covered, but we'll have to risk it." He held out his hand. "Come on."

She was already out of breath by the time they reached the service stairs; it wasn't a promising start. "Where are we going?" she panted.

He hushed her, and leaned out over the banister, listening. From far below, he heard voices, the words unclear as they echoed in the stairwell.

"Second floor," he murmured.

The second floor corridor was empty so far; probably Hochstetter would head straight for Elise's suite, two levels above. Newkirk stopped at the first door, listening for any sounds from inside, then reached into his pocket for the lockpicking kit which went everywhere with him. A few moments, and they were in.

They'd struck it lucky. The guests who had this room were out; and with the building now in the control of the SS, it was likely they wouldn't be back for some time. Newkirk pulled the curtains to, before opening the wardrobe. "This is handy," he said. "See if there's something that fits."

Elise came to inspect the clothes hanging there. "She must be the size of a small horse," she murmured. "I can't wear any of these. They won't hang right, and the colours..."

"Oh, for...We're not going to a dinner party." He grabbed a couple of garments at random, and shoved them into her hands. "Look, if we can't make a break for it, we've both had it. And we won't get far with you in that lot. Now stop being so bloody precious and put those on. And go and wash your face while you're at it." Then, as she stared blankly at him, he added. "Get rid of the make-up. You don't want anyone looking twice, do you?"

He went to the window, and twitched the curtain aside slightly. The window looked out onto a narrow alley separating the hotel from the next building. He could see two men patrolling. No chance there.

Elise returned from the bathroom, considerably less elegant in the tweedy skirt and shapeless green pullover, and with her face still pink and damp from the quick scrubbing she'd given herself. She was still pretty, but not so immediately eye-catching as before, although the fair hair, waving perfectly to just below her shoulders, was something of a giveaway. Newkirk rummaged around in a chest of drawers which stood beside the window, and found a scarf to tie over it. It was better than nothing.

"Can you walk far in those shoes?" he asked. "Because you might have to." He had left the motorcycle at the front of the hotel; getting to it would be impossible.

She looked down at her feet. "Then I will have to manage." He didn't like her chances, not with those heels. "I hate to leave that dress," she sighed. "It's by Josquin. It'll be years before I can get to Paris again."

"It may be never, if we don't get out of here" replied Newkirk.

His tone sobered her at once. "Do you have a plan?"

"Not a clue." He picked up a coat which was draped over a chair. "Put this on."

There was still no activity in the corridor. "All right," murmured Newkirk. "They're safe to have the lobby covered. We'll try the back stairs again, and see if we can get to the kitchen. Keep quiet, and stay close to me. Oh, and one more thing, princess. The first sign that you're playing me, and I'll break your neck." She blinked, as she realised he wasn't kidding.

All was quiet in the stairwell, but Newkirk took no chances; he kept close to the wall, and moved slowly, pausing on every landing in order to check whether the next flight was clear before proceeding. He could sense Elise's impatience, but she had taken his warning to heart, and tried not to make any sound. They were both aware of the tumult that had broken out on the upper floors; harsh voices, heavy running footsteps, banging on doors. The Gestapo were working their way down; another piece of good luck. The smart move would have been to start at the ground floor and work up.

The stairs gave on to a short passage leading directly to the hotel kitchen. It appeared to be unguarded. Newkirk was starting to worry; this seemed too easy. He glanced down at Elise, who was keeping close, as he'd told her to. She looked scared, but of whom - Hochstetter, or Newkirk himself - would be hard to guess.

The kitchen seemed deserted. Probably the staff had been rounded up into the main part of the building with everyone else. But that didn't mean the rest of the place was unguarded, so with every instinct urging him to make a run for the exit, Newkirk had to hold back. After a careful scrutiny, he nodded to Elise, and edged around the door frame and along the wall. He could feel her hand clutching his sleeve, as she followed him.

They were almost there. Newkirk could see the door; he came to a standstill, and waited. For ten seconds, there was nothing; then the guard came into view, as he paced slowly in front of the only way out. Newkirk shuffled back, out of the man's line of sight.

"Okay, we're going to have to work together on this," he whispered. "Just follow my lead."

Elise nodded, breathing rapidly. He took hold of her elbow, straightened up, and strolled towards the door as if there was nothing in the least irregular about wandering the kitchens after midnight.

"_Halt_!" snapped the guard, swinging round and raising his gun. "Where are you going? Nobody is to leave the hotel."

Newkirk tried for the sweeping contemptuous gaze he'd watched Carter demonstrate with consummate skill so many times. "_Entschuldigung_," he replied, in an icy voice. "Do you know who I am?" The man looked at him suspiciously. "Captain Bachmann," Newkirk went on. "Aide to General Burkhalter." If he was going to slander someone, it might as well be a man he despised. "And this lady is a close friend of the general. Very close," he added, dropping his voice to a confidential murmur.

He felt Elise twitch, and wondered if she was acquainted with Burkhalter. But she kept cool as the guard's eyes turned on her. In her borrowed clothes, she didn't look like a general's fancy piece, but she lifted her chin and gave the man a coquettish smile.

"It makes no difference. Nobody leaves, by order of the Gestapo."

Newkirk glanced at Elise. "The general's not going to like that. And his wife won't be pleased, if she finds out where he's been tonight, and who he's been with. Perhaps you'd like to speak to the general yourself? He's still in the suite. Fourth floor."

The guard wavered, weighing up the relative importance of a _Luftwaffe _general compared to that of the rabid hamster Hochstetter.

"Franz, _Liebchen_," said Elise sweetly, "are we going to be here very long? You know my darling _Ochsenfrosch_ doesn't like me to be on the streets after midnight." So she did know Burkhalter, and she'd nailed him with one well-chosen pet name. From the smirk which crossed the guard's face, it was clear he knew the old bullfrog, too.

Newkirk soothed her in the kindly manner of an older brother, then turned back to the guard, and beckoned him closer. "Tell you what," he said, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "I know you've got your orders, but it's best if we don't embarrass the general. He can get a bit irritable. So here's what we'll do." As the guard leaned forward to hear his suggestion, Newkirk brought his pistol up to the man's ear. "You'll give me that gun, for a start."

He jerked the weapon from the man's hands, and nodded to Elise. "That door over there - that'll be the pantry. Open it."

A quick glance round confirmed the pantry had no windows; the door was sturdy and fitted with a crossbar on the outside. Newkirk shoved the guard inside, and secured the door.

"I can't believe we got away with that," he muttered. He wondered about keeping the guard's weapon, but decided against it; _Luftwaffe_ officers out on the town didn't carry semi-automatics, and the last thing he wanted was to attract attention. Nice piece of equipment, though; it was a shame to leave it.

They still weren't out of danger. The main kitchen door opened onto a lane behind the hotel. Nobody seemed to be patrolling the laneway, but as Newkirk peered around the door frame, another SS guard came into view at the first corner to the right; probably one of the men he'd seen from the second-floor window. That way was covered. Newkirk dodged back, waiting for the guard to come past the door, but he turned and went back out of sight.

The man in the pantry had started getting noisy. They needed to move, and fast. Newkirk took a firm grip on Elise's hand, and they slipped out, heading to the left, away from the guard's beat.

If there was anyone at the other end of the building…

There wasn't. The way remained clear, to the end of the laneway, and from there across the cobbled street and into the dark shelter of another narrow alleyway on the opposite side.

"Can't stop now, princess," said Newkirk under his breath, as Elise slowed. "As soon as they find that bloke in the cupboard, they'll start searching outside. So we need to put some distance between us and them."

He could hear the catch in her breathing, and he felt a twinge of remorse. She'd done well in there, given how frightened she must be. Perhaps she was on the level, after all. Still, he couldn't take the chance. It wasn't just his own life he'd be risking, if she turned out to be another Gretel; it would be his mates as well, all of them. He tightened his grasp on her hand, and set off again.

He didn't have a plan, apart from getting as far from the Alte Residenz as possible, so he just kept going. He had a sense that they were moving more or less parallel to the river, but couldn't be sure. If he was right, they were heading roughly in the direction of a known safe house, the café run by an Underground member, code name Mistral. The difficulty would be contacting him without giving his location away to Elise. But if it could be managed, Mistral had a radio and could get a message back to Stalag 13.

They walked on in silence for some time. Before long they were out of the maze of narrow streets of the _Altstadt_, and since the weather had cleared, there was sufficient moonlight for Newkirk to make a fair assessment of their location. So far he heard no sounds of pursuit, and they were now a fair distance from the hotel, though not as far away as he'd hoped.

Elise hadn't complained, but her shoes had begun to pinch, and it slowed them down. Finally Newkirk had to let her rest. A small public garden, opposite a row of shops, gave them brief sanctuary, and Elise sank onto a bench with a sigh. Newkirk remained standing, looking down at her.

"We're not far from someone who can put me in touch with the governor," he said. "The problem is, I can't take you there."

She glanced up. "You really don't trust me, do you?"

"Can't afford to," replied Newkirk tersely. Then, seeing how weary she looked, he added, "I'll find somewhere safe to leave you, and I'll come back for you."

"So I'm to trust you?"

"You don't have a choice, do you?"

In the stillness which followed this, he became aware of a sound which had been audible for some time in the distance, but which was getting closer; a very familiar sound, that of approaching aircraft. His heart rate accelerated sharply as he looked towards the sky.

_Lancasters? No, can't be, they'd have let us know if…_

Even as the thought formed in his mind, he was scanning the buildings opposite, looking for somewhere to take cover. "On your feet," he snapped at Elise. "We have to move, now."

As she just stared at him, he grabbed her arm and yanked her upright. "Don't just sit there. Those are bombers. Our bombers."

He hustled her across the street towards the shops. It would be suicide to shelter in any of the doorways, surrounded as they were by display windows; the flying glass would kill them if the bombs didn't. He had noticed a gap between two of the buildings, probably just wide enough for them to crouch inside. No protection from a direct hit, or even a close one, and if either wall came down, they wouldn't stand a chance, but it was the best they could do. Newkirk pushed Elise into the narrow space. "Get down," he ordered. He crouched over her, put his arms over his head and prepared to shield her as best he could.

He'd heard the ungodly shriek of falling bombs before, many times, but never before had it frightened him like this. _God, they'll never know what happened to me_, he thought desperately; and the thought was more terrifying than the bombing.


	4. Chapter 4

It was very quiet in the radio room.

Hogan had told LeBeau and Carter to go to the barracks, and to try to get some rest. Carter, however, begged to be allowed to wait for news, while LeBeau gave no indication of even hearing the order. There was no way either of them could have slept, anyway. Hogan let them stay.

Not that there seemed to be any point. Blackbird had no further information for them. Kinch remained at his post, trying every so often to reach the other main radio contact in Hammelburg, but Mistral was not responding. As he was north of the river, in the danger zone, perhaps Mistral was gone, as well as Newkirk.

The meeting had been scheduled for eleven-thirty. Information received put the bombing at one-fifteen. Newkirk should have been well away from the hotel before the bombs started falling. He should have been back at Stalag 13 before the news reached them. But every assignment carried the risk of unexpected delays, and the same thought was in everyone's mind: if he had got away in plenty of time, then where the hell was he?

After yet another failed attempt, Kinch took off the headset. "Colonel, it's getting close to roll-call," he murmured. "We're going to have to think of something."

Hogan didn't reply at first. He closed his eyes briefly, head bowed and eyebrows drawn together as he put aside the emotional content of the situation, and tried to focus on the practicalities.

"We can't cover for him," he said at last. "Thanks to that last escapade of his, he's the second person Klink looks for at roll-call, once he's checked I'm there. And we've got to face it, there's a good chance...It looks like we'll have to go to the permanent escape plan."

He met Kinch's gaze unflinchingly; glanced at Carter who was staring at him in stunned disbelief; but couldn't bring himself to look at LeBeau.

"Colonel..." Kinch began, but Hogan cut him off.

"We don't have a choice. LeBeau, you know what to do." Then, as LeBeau didn't answer him, he spoke more sharply: "LeBeau, do you know what to do?"

Several more seconds passed before LeBeau replied, in a low monotone. "I go out through the emergency tunnel, hide out somewhere for twenty-four hours, then give myself up. My story is, I hid in the garbage truck with...with Newkirk, we separated after we got out, and I don't know which way he went."

"Colonel, you can't." Carter couldn't contain himself. "We don't know yet. Maybe he just got held up somewhere. He could be still trying to get back." Then, seeing Hogan's expression didn't change, he added, "I never thought you'd give up on any of us, Colonel. I know you're still mad at him, but Newkirk doesn't deserve that."

"That's enough, Carter."

Hogan didn't speak loudly, but the tone was sufficient to stop Carter cold. He caught his breath, and said, in a tightly controlled voice, "Don't make Louis do it. Let me go instead."

"No," said LeBeau. "Not you, Carter. I'll go."

Kinch was fidgeting, clearly uneasy about the plan. "Excuse me, Colonel," he put in, "but I think Carter might have a point. Say Newkirk's just been delayed on his way back. Things are probably pretty chaotic in Hammelburg right now, he might have been caught up. If we set the Krauts looking for him, he's likely to run into a search party before he gets here."

"In which case they'll just bring him back, and he gets time in the cooler," replied Hogan.

"It's not quite as simple as that, Colonel," Kinch pointed out. "They find him in a _Luftwaffe_ uniform, carrying forged papers, they're going to ask some difficult questions."

Hogan had forgotten about the uniform. It was more than just an added complication; it was the sort of detail that could get Newkirk shot. He started pacing, trying to think. "Okay. Then we need a good reason why he isn't at roll-call."

"Can we tell them he's sick?" said Carter.

Hogan dismissed the suggestion. "No, they'll just come to the barracks looking for him, and when they don't find him, we're back to square one." He came to a standstill, as the idea filtered through to another layer. "But maybe, if _nobody_ turned out...LeBeau, Carter, get up to the barracks. I want at least four sick men up there - five, including Newkirk. Get someone into his bunk, someone who could pass for Newkirk if his back's turned and the blanket's over his ears. Tell him he's to pretend to be sleeping, and not to wake up, no matter what happens. And the others are to be as sick as possible. Make it something really nasty. Nobody is to leave the barracks. Got it? Get going, we don't have much time. Kinch, you stay here, and keep trying to reach Mistral."

"What if the goons do a head count?"

"We're already one short, might as well be two. They won't, if we play it right."

"Colonel," Kinch said quietly, as Hogan turned to follow the others. "Carter didn't mean that."

Hogan didn't turn back. "Yeah, he did, Kinch," he answered, almost inaudibly.

He stopped for a moment in the tunnel, out of Kinch's line of sight, and leaned against one of the roof props, breathing deeply. They had always known this was likely to happen one day. That was why they had the permanent escape plan in reserve, so a missing man who was never coming back could be accounted for. Nor was it the first time Hogan had faced the death of a comrade. Bomber squadrons tended to have a high mortality rate. But it never got easier, and the circumstances of the Stalag 13 set-up meant this group of men had got unusually close. And it had to be the one he'd been so damned angry with, didn't it?

He had to stop this. There wasn't time for personal reflection. Carter had caught him by surprise, but the unexpected reproach had got his thoughts back on track. As long as there was any chance Newkirk might still come home, they had to try to keep the way clear for him. Hogan straightened up, braced himself and headed up to the barracks.

The men had got the idea, and some of them were already back in bed. Abrahams had thrown Newkirk's long nightshirt over his own clothes. "You guys ever tell anyone you saw me wearing this, and I'll come looking for you after the war," he warned, as he clambered up into Newkirk's bunk.

"Okay, there isn't time to tell you all exactly how to play this," said Hogan. "But whatever else happens, the guards can't find out that's Abrahams and not Newkirk. If they start showing too much interest in him, someone will have to distract them. Did we pick a disease yet?"

"Gastric upset," replied LeBeau, who was standing beside the stove, waiting for a pan of water to heat up. He had been badly shaken by the news, and was still on edge, but the move away from the permanent escape plan had steadied him, and he seemed resolved to do whatever it took to carry this off. "We didn't want anything too specific. But if Klink decides to get a doctor..."

Hogan cut him off. "We'll just have to make sure he doesn't." He glanced at Carter, standing next to the bunk now occupied by Abrahams, but Carter avoided his eye, and turned to help Abrahams get settled.

The warning came: "Schultz is coming."

Abrahams disappeared under the blanket, while the other victims of the unspecified malady settled into attitudes of affliction. Hogan went and stood over one of them, adopting an expression of deep concern.

"Not now, Schultz," he said over his shoulder, as the sergeant of the guard came into the barracks. "Can't you see we're busy?"

Schultz paid no attention to him. "Roll-call. Everybody out of the barracks. _Raus._"

"Sorry, Schultz. We've got some very sick men here. We're going to have to skip roll-call. Okay, Saunders, don't try to get up."

"Out of the way, Schultz," said LeBeau, bustling past on his way to another patient, bearing a cup of hot water.

Schultz followed him, bemused. "What are you doing, LeBeau?"

"Bartoli has a pain in his stomach." LeBeau stared at Schultz as if wondering how anyone could be so ignorant. "He's been sick all night. I'm giving him some hot water, to settle the nausea."

"You have two men sick?"

"No, Schultz," replied Hogan. "We've got five men sick, and it's spreading fast. Whatever it is, it's contagious."

Schultz, who had been peering at Bartoli, backed away with surprising speed. He could move, all right, when he had sufficient incentive. "But they were all perfectly well yesterday," he objected.

"It came on in the night," said LeBeau over his shoulder, as he held the cup to Bartoli's lips. "There, now, _mon ami_, that's better, no?" Bartoli nodded, then winced and caught his breath, as if moving his head was painful. "It's the sick spells, Colonel. They've worn him out."

"Yeah, at least nobody's got the runs yet. That'll really take it out of them. I don't want to be inhospitable, Schultz," Hogan added, "but these men need rest and quiet."

"Colonel Hogan, even if the sick men stay in the barracks, the rest of you should turn out at once. Please, Colonel Hogan. The Kommandant will be furious." Schultz voice was starting to modulate into a whimper. "He is already on the edge. They bombed Hammelburg last night, everyone is in a terrible state about it."

"Look, Schultz, we don't know what we're dealing with here," Hogan pointed out. "If it is contagious, we could all be infected, and we'd end up spreading it right through the camp. It's better to keep it contained. Klink'll just have to put up with it."

Schultz sighed, and headed for the door. "This is no way to start the day."

"Come on, look on the bright side," said Hogan. "At least it can't get any worse."

"That's easy for you to say," grumbled Schultz. "You don't have to tell the Kommandant."

As the door closed behind him, Hogan relaxed. "Someone watch the door. Okay, so far, so good. The next part - convincing Klink - is going to be tough."

He broke off, as a tapping noise was heard from below the tunnel entrance. As the lower bunk ascended, Kinch emerged. "I've got news, Colonel," he said.

There was a subdued murmur from around the barracks, which died away as Hogan held up his hand. "From Mistral?"

"No, from Blackbird. Remember that girl Christina? She's just arrived on his doorstep."

"Christina? She's the one who works in the _Postamt_," said LeBeau.

"That's her. Lives in an apartment right across the square from the Alte Residenz."

"So she got away safely. Well, that's something," observed Hogan.

"Yeah, maybe it wasn't as bad as we thought," added Carter, brightening.

Kinch shook his head. "Actually, it could be worse than we thought. She left home around midnight, well before the bombing raid. She got out of there when the Gestapo turned up and sealed off the hotel."

Nobody spoke for several seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw LeBeau put his hand to his forehead, shielding his face from view.

At last, Carter said hesitantly, "Do you think they got him?"

"I don't know," replied Hogan slowly. "If they did...well, at least that'd mean he's still alive. But..."

"Klink!" hissed the man at the door.

There wasn't time to dwell on what might have happened. "Everyone back in position," Hogan ordered. "We'll play it out as planned."

Abrahams flung the blanket over his head, and lay still, as Kommandant Klink stalked into the barracks. "Colonel Hogan, your men are not at roll-call."

"That's because they're in here, Kommandant," replied Hogan. "And can you keep your voice down? Addison's just managed to get to sleep at last."

Addison, who hadn't been warned he was supposed to be sleeping, managed to get his eyes closed before the Kommandant's eye fell on him. Klink regarded him suspiciously for a moment. "He's very flushed," he observed slowly.

"It's the fever," said Hogan. "But we've got it down to a hundred and one, so hopefully the worst is over. For him."

Klink continued to stare at Addison for a moment. "Which other men are sick?" he asked.

"Bartoli, Saunders, Newkirk and Beauchamp," replied Hogan. Then, as Klink turned his attention towards Newkirk's bunk, he added, "And I'm not sure about Carter. He doesn't look quite right."

The distraction worked; Klink immediately focused on Carter, who tried to appear unwell. "Carter never looks quite right," said Klink impatiently. But he continued his scrutiny, much to Carter's discomfiture.

Finally he turned to Hogan. "I'm not at all satisfied," he said. "We must have a doctor to these men at once."

Hogan greeted this with great enthusiasm. "Excellent idea, sir. See, guys? And you all thought the Kommandant wouldn't take the risk."

Klink gazed at him anxiously. "Risk?" he murmured, almost to himself.

"You know how it is, when these things start, Kommandant. Questions get asked. I mean, nobody really thinks your management is at fault when infectious diseases get into the place, but I can't help remembering what happened to Colonel Bruckner at Stalag 19."

"What happened to Bruckner?" stammered Klink.

"Applied for a transfer to active service. Voluntary, of course; Burkhalter insisted on it. And _his_ prisoners only had impetigo. With something like this, they're liable to close the whole camp down, to be on the safe side. Kommandant, you're a brave man. We'll always remember you as a real humanitarian."

The real humanitarian had gone quite pale. "Well, let's not be hasty," he said. "It might be difficult to get any doctor today, after the air raid last night. But I'll be watching you, Hogan," he added, with an attempt to regain his authority. "And if this is just another escape plan, the punishment will be severe."

He turned away, and his eye fell on the occupant of Newkirk's bunk. For a few seconds, he stared at the top of Abrahams' head, the only visible part of the man. An expression of doubt crossed his face, and he took a step forward. Hogan prepared to intervene.

Carter, still standing next to the bunk, beat him to it. Without warning, he pitched forward in a very convincing faint, straight into the Kommandant's arms. Hogan felt like applauding, but he restrained the urge, and rushed to help Kinch lift Carter off Klink's chest.

"I'm okay, Colonel," said Carter weakly. "Just felt dizzy for a second. I'm fine." He freed himself from their grip, and stood upright, and Klink caught him again as he went over a second time. Kinch and Hogan got him up again, and sat him down on his bunk.

"Okay, just take it easy," said Hogan, stooping over him. "You'd better lie down, Carter."

"I think he's feverish, Colonel," said Kinch. "Isn't that how it starts?"

Hogan confirmed it. "Yep, first the dizziness, then the fever. Damn it, that's another man down. I've never seen anything spread so fast. Must be airborne."

Klink was unconsciously attempting to brush off any germs which might have been transferred to him from Carter; at these words, he cast a look around as if he could spot the floating pathogens lurking about, waiting for the chance to tackle him from behind. He started backing towards the door, in a series of tiny shuffles.

"So, does that mean no doctor, then?" Hogan said over his shoulder.

"Maybe later," muttered Klink.

A hush fell throughout the barracks, as the door closed behind him; then a collective sigh, as every man started breathing again.

"I can't believe he bought it," said Kinch.

"Boy, I really _do_ feel sick, thinking about it," added Carter.

Hogan straightened up. "Okay, we bought some time. Kinch, there's still no word from Mistral?"

"Nothing, Colonel. Blackbird hasn't heard from him, either."

Hogan folded his arms, as he went through the possibilities. Finally he turned to LeBeau. "We'll need German army uniforms, including a colonel."

"We've got them. Newkirk spent the last few weeks getting everything in order," said LeBeau, very quietly

"Good. And it wouldn't hurt if we had some _Abwehr _documentation, just to stir things up if we need to."

"He got those up to date, as well," replied Kinch. "He's had a lot of time on his hands just lately."

Carter looked up. He was subdued, but not ready to let go just yet. "Are we going to get him, Colonel?"

"We're going to see what we can find out," Hogan replied. "But we'd better be prepared. There are three possibilities, as far as I can see. One, Newkirk got away before the Gestapo got there, or just after, and for some reason he hasn't been able to get back here. Second - the Gestapo have him, and if so, we have to get him out. And the third..."

He fell silent, but after a few seconds, Kinch took up the thought. "The third is, he never left the hotel."

Hogan nodded. He was graver than his men had ever seen him. "Or he did, but got caught by the bombing outside. And if that's the case... " He didn't finish the sentence, but from the silence around him, he knew they all understood. It was hard to accept, and some of them wouldn't accept it without a fight; but most of them knew there was a chance Newkirk wasn't coming back.


	5. Chapter 5

The dull morning light filtering through the window roused Newkirk from the sleep which had overwhelmed him less than an hour earlier. He turned on his side, almost rolling off the edge of the low couch where he was lying; passed a hand over his face as if to wipe away the drowsiness, then got up stiffly and crept to the window.

A haze of smoke obscured the street outside, but at least the sirens which had been so persistent when he had dozed off were no longer audible. He glanced at his watch; it was gone half past six. So he'd missed roll-call, and he hadn't been able to contact home base and let them know what had happened. They would hear of the air raid, of course. He didn't dare guess what they were thinking, or how they would account for his absence, but he knew he had to get in touch as soon as possible.

Elise was curled up on the other sofa, deeply asleep. He didn't want to wake her; she had been pitifully exhausted by the time they'd taken refuge in this house, just over three hours ago. But his need to reach Mistral and get a message to Stalag 13 had reached the point of urgency. He still had too many doubts to take her along, yet he didn't want her to panic, if she woke and found herself alone. He bent over her, and gave her a gentle shake. "Wake up, princess," he said, in a low, hoarse voice.

She gave a little gasp, and opened her eyes, gazing up at him. For a moment, she seemed completely disoriented, then she realised. "Oh, it's you," she murmured indistinctly. "I remember."

"Yeah. Big night. Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep, but I have to go out."

It took a moment for her to comprehend. "Where are you going?"

"It's past time I called home," he replied, straightening up. "You should be safe enough here." They had seen the occupants of this house leaving, before Newkirk broke in here. From the amount of their possessions they had taken with them, he was pretty sure they didn't mean to come back for some time.

Elise sat up slowly. "You have to leave me here alone." She had started to get it.

"No choice, sweetheart." She'd be safer, anyway. It was even money the Gestapo were still looking for them, but Newkirk didn't care to mention it. "You should go upstairs, get some proper sleep on a bed for an hour or so."

"No," she answered sharply. "I want to stay down here." He couldn't blame her. Those seemingly endless minutes of sheer terror, huddled between two walls expecting to be blown into non-existence at any moment, had knocked him for six, and he had no doubt Elise's state of mind was even worse. Even though there was no likelihood of a further attack, he knew she wanted to stay close to the front door in case she needed to get out in a hurry.

"All right, have it your way. I'll just have a quick look round, see if there's anything to eat in the place." It had been too dark when they arrived for more than a quick reconnaissance; the electricity supply had failed, as had the water. Possibly the telephone lines were out as well, but so far as Newkirk could tell, there wasn't one in the house anyway.

He found the kitchen at the back of the house, overlooking a small courtyard surrounded by a brick wall, with a wrought iron gate allowing a glimpse of trees beyond. It would do as an alternative escape route, if they needed one. He rummaged around in the pantry, but either the owners were living pretty much hand to mouth, or they'd taken everything with them when they evacuated. Newkirk bet on the latter; he'd have done just that, in similar circumstances.

Returning to the front room, he found Elise attempting to make herself more presentable, straightening out the tangles in her hair by running her fingers through it. "No luck," he said.

"It doesn't matter. I couldn't eat, anyway."

He could sympathise with that, too. "I'll be off, then. Stay out of sight, and if the owners come back, slip out the back way. I'll be back soon." He gave her a nod, and left her.

The air outside was bad; it caught in his throat, and brought the sting of tears to his eyes. If the smoke still rising from the centre of town was anything to go by, fires were still burning. Newkirk pulled his coat close around him, and set off.

There were few people about, and most of them seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere else. Newkirk saw no signs of damage at first, but pretty soon the first destruction site came into view; two or three houses, reduced to an incomprehensible mass of debris. His heart sank. If Mistral had taken a direct hit...

He hadn't. The coffee house came into view, around a corner, still intact. Newkirk felt giddy for a moment, the relief was so great. He crossed the road quickly, and knocked on the door.

No need for a recognition code; Mistral knew him by sight. He stared in astonishment for a few seconds, then dragged Newkirk inside, and closed the door.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Newkirk held up his hands. "I don't know, Max." He could drop the code name now. "Your guess is as good as..."

"They bombed the town," Max interrupted furiously. "We had no warning."

"I know. I'm sorry. Look, I was here. I was in town last night. They didn't tell me, either." Newkirk leaned against the nearest wall. He wasn't up to this, not now.

Max glared at him for a moment, then turned away. "Sit down," he said abruptly. He went into the room behind the bar, and returned a minute later with a mug of black coffee. "That's all there is, till the water main is repaired. You look as if you need it more than I do." He sat across the table from Newkirk, watching him.

Newkirk swallowed the coffee. It was lukewarm, and bitter, but it helped. "I needed that. Max, I'm sorry. We weren't told." He blinked, and took a deep breath. "I need to contact Papa Bear urgently. Can you let me use the radio?"

Max shook his head. "The radio is in the cellar, and it's wrecked. There's three feet of water down there."

"Oh, sod it," Newkirk murmured. He leaned his elbows on the table, supporting his aching forehead on his fingers. He hadn't realised until this minute how much he had built up his hopes on that radio.

"I'll have to try for Blackbird," he said, after a while. "I don't know how I'll manage it. I'm not alone." He realised Max was looking puzzled, and added. "Can't take her there. Couldn't bring her here, either. I'm not sure of her yet."

Max got up, and went into the back room again, and returned with a sturdy-looking boy of about nine. The family resemblance was obvious

"This is Rolf," he said. "I was about to send him across the river to let Blackbird know our situation. He can take a message for you."

That would make things much easier, although it went against the grain to use a child as courier. "I don't want to put it in writing," said Newkirk slowly. "You good at remembering things, Rolf?"

"_Ja, Herr Kapitan_," replied the boy, staring at him with big serious eyes.

"He often carries messages to friends," added Max. "He won't forget anything, and if he is stopped, he knows how to look innocent."

Newkirk closed his eyes for a moment, sorting out the information which had to be passed on. He needed a code name, something they'd recognise him by. The obvious answer was the recognition code from last night's meeting; Kinch would know what it meant. "Tell them the message is from Salzburg."

He kept it short; no point in loading the boy down with a lot of information which Blackbird would be unable to transmit safely. Then he had Rolf repeat it back, three times. He was word-perfect.

"You sure he'll be all right, Max?" Newkirk asked, as the boy set off. "He's just a kid."

"Children grow up fast these days," replied Max. Then he went on, in a businesslike tone, "Is there anything else you need?"

"I hate to ask, but we haven't eaten. If you can spare anything, Papa Bear will see you get paid back for it." Newkirk considered, then added, "And it wouldn't hurt, if you could lend me a coat. They're probably looking for a _Luftwaffe_ captain, after last night."

Max nodded towards the coat-rack. "Take mine. I'll get rid of that one."

"I'm sorry to lose it; some of my best work went into it," observed Newkirk, as he took off the uniform topcoat. Max carried it off to the back room. He was gone for several minutes, and when he came back he brought a canvas satchel.

"This should keep you going," he said. "It's as much as I can spare."

"You're a lifesaver, Max," murmured Newkirk. He thought twice before he went on, very softly, "How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad. I've heard the railway yard to the north is out of action."

"That must have been the target." They still should have told him. "What about in town?"

"There's a lot of damage around Kaiserplatz."

Newkirk felt a sudden icy chill. "Near the Alte Residenz?"

"It was hit. I haven't seen it, but I heard it's badly damaged, and a lot of casualties."

"I was there last night." Newkirk sat down again, shocked. He calculated how much time had passed between their escape from the hotel, and the air raid; probably not much more than half an hour.

"You really weren't warned that Hammelburg was targeted? Peter, how is this possible?"

"Someone made a mistake. They were meant to be bombing the communications base at Weizenfeld. Maybe there was a change of plan. I don't know, Max." Newkirk shook his head, and gave a sigh. Thinking about this was too difficult right now.

"I have to go," he said at last. "I'll try to get back later, in case there's a return message from Papa Bear. Take care, mate."

"You too, Peter," replied Max.

The smoke had thickened in the streets while Newkirk was in the café; he wasn't sure if it was a bad sign, but he quickened his pace as he returned to the house. He'd been gone longer than he had expected. As he approached, he saw a face appear briefly at the front window.

"I thought I told you to stay out of sight," he said, as soon as he got inside.

Elise gave him a cool, scornful look. "I'm not required to take orders from you."

"Oh, yes, you are, sweetheart. Right now, I'm in charge, and if you don't like it, then find your own way out of the country," Newkirk shot back furiously. This idiot of a woman was going to get them both arrested.

She glowered at him, her eyes very bright; then bit her lower lip. "You were gone so long. I was afraid you weren't coming back."

"I told you I'd be back."

"Yes, but I don't know if you're the kind of man who keeps his word." Her manner was antagonistic, but Newkirk could sense something else behind it. He held on to the retort which sprang to his lips, and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his anger as best he could. She knew nothing about him; she was frightened, and in shock after last night. He was the professional in this game. He didn't trust her, he didn't even like her, but he was responsible for her, until he received further orders.

"Okay, princess," he said at last. "You may not be happy with it, but we're stuck with each other till I hear back from the governor. Now, I don't know what sort of men you're used to dealing with, but when I say something, I mean it. I may have to leave you for a bit now and then, but I'll always come back for you."

Whether she believed him or not, she grew less tense. "How long will it be until you hear from him?"

"Not sure. Things are a bit of a mess just now, so it takes longer to pass a message along. I'll have to go back in a couple of hours."

Her expression said she wasn't pleased, but she accepted it.

"I picked up some grub while I was there," he went on. Then, at the blank look on her face: "Food, love. Don't look at me like that. You have to eat, or you'll be passing out on me."

Max had done well by them; bread, cold meat, tinned fruit, some chocolate - God alone knew where he got that - and a bottle of milk. It was a mixed meal, but it would see them through.

Elise, it turned out, was finicky about her food. She rejected the meat altogether, and he had to bully her into eating some bread; the fruit and milk went down easier. Newkirk put the chocolate aside for later, knowing it might be some time before they got another meal.

He waited until she'd finished eating before he broke the news to her about the Alte Residenz. As he'd anticipated, it came as a shock, but something struck her which hadn't occurred to him

"Do you think Wolfgang was still there?" she asked.

_Oh, I hope so!_ thought Newkirk, but he kept it to himself. The degree of family affection between Hochstetter and his sister-in-law was a mystery to him, so he wasn't sure she would be as delighted with the prospect as he was. "It's possible," he replied cautiously. "Depends whether he'd twigged that we got away."

"You know, I'm almost certain it was him." Elise spoke almost in a whisper. "Stefan always thought, if there was anyone in the world he could trust, it was family, but Wolfgang is so committed..."

"You think he's the one who informed on you?" It made sense, but it was a nasty idea.

She didn't reply, just gave a tiny shrug, but he hadn't seen that look on her face before. If appearances were anything to go by, the thought had caused her a lot of distress. Newkirk tried to think of something comforting to say; he wasn't often stuck for words, but he'd never imagined he'd have to offer consolation over anything to do with Hochstetter. He got up, and went to the window, leaving her to regain her composure.

The smoke had started to clear in the street outside. There was still little traffic. A large black car drove slowly past, and stopped a little way further down. Newkirk watched, as the occupants got out.

"For what it's worth," he said softly, "Wolfgang seems to have got out of the hotel. Get your shoes on, princess. We have to go, fast."


	6. Chapter 6

"Colonel, I don't like it," said Kinch. "It's broad daylight, and for all we know they've brought the army in to deal with the clean-up." He was still at the radio, waiting for the message that with every minute seemed less likely to arrive.

Hogan nodded a reluctant agreement. "I know. It's about as risky as it gets. But we can't ask anything of the Underground right now. They've probably got as much as they can cope with. And for our own security, if nothing else, we have to know whether Newkirk is safe."

_Or whether __he's still alive_. The unspoken thought was almost tangible in the air around them. That was the clincher, the real reason why Hogan was taking such an outrageous risk, and why Kinch hadn't tried very hard to talk him out of it.

"What do you really think?" he asked abruptly.

"If the Gestapo had him, Hochstetter would be the first to know, and he'd have been here by now," said Hogan. "Okay, I know, Newkirk wouldn't talk, not until they'd really worked him over, and it'd take days to get anything out of him. But he wouldn't have to. Hochstetter would know him on sight."

"You know what I keep thinking?" Kinch hesitated for a moment, then went on, in a low voice. "I hate myself for it, but it just keeps coming back. What if he's with some _Fräulein_ or other, and has no idea what's been going on?"

"Kinch, do you think I haven't had the same idea? I almost wish I could believe it. At least he'd be safe. Until I got my hands on him, anyway." Hogan took a deep breath and got back into pre-mission mode. "The car's organised?"

"It'll be at the usual place, on the Hammelburg Road. There's a field radio in the trunk, like you ordered. But the sergeant at the motor pool told me the price is going up. It's twelve cents a mile, and he asked if you could bring it back without bullet holes this time."

"He's got a nerve. It was the guys on his side that were shooting at us."

"He's pretty sore about the motorcycle Newkirk took last night; wants to know when it's coming back." That bike was never coming back. "Any instructions while you're gone, Colonel?"

"Yeah, I want someone on duty here at all times. Get someone else to take it in shifts, so you get a break. You had the worst of it last night, you need the rest. What about that new guy?"

"Baker? Yeah, okay. He's pretty good," said Kinch. "I'm better," he added, with a slow grin. But there was a tired look behind it. Those hours of dealing with the news on his own, before the others had returned from Weizenfeld, had been more of a strain than he would admit.

Hogan went along the tunnel to the storage area where they kept their collection of uniforms and other clothes for excursions; he'd left Carter and LeBeau to get ready for the trip to Hammelburg, while he consulted with Kinch. As he approached, Carter emerged, in a swirl of heavy grey top-coat, and ran straight into him. He uttered a disjointed, barely coherent excuse, and vanished in the direction of the radio room. Instinctively, Hogan started to call after him, but checked himself. He'd never seen Carter look so angry before.

LeBeau was still getting dressed. He was flushed, his eyebrows drawn together.

"What happened?" asked Hogan.

LeBeau looked up at him. "I said something I shouldn't have." Then, as Hogan looked at him inquiringly, he added, "Don't ask me to repeat it. I didn't mean it."

"Was it about Newkirk?" said Hogan. LeBeau turned away, fumbling with his buttons. "Okay, LeBeau," Hogan went on. "I won't ask. But you have to pull yourself together, or you're no use to me on this mission."

He turned LeBeau around by the shoulders, and started to straighten his uniform. LeBeau submitted meekly.

"Carter thinks we're going to bring him home," he observed, after a minute or so.

"You don't." It was a statement, not a question.

"_Non_." LeBeau still kept his face averted. "He would have got a message to us by now, if..." He broke off, and bit his lip. "You don't know what it was like for me, when I first came here. I nearly went crazy. If it hadn't been for Newkirk...He's been like a brother, _mon Colonel_. A loud, annoying brother, sometimes, but whenever I needed someone, I knew he'd be there. I always thought, no matter what happened, he'd make it."

"He's just the type who would," said Hogan. "That's all I'm hanging on to, right now."

Before he could say any more, Carter came racing back. "Kinch wants you, Colonel. It's Blackbird. He's got news."

For a moment, they both just stared at him. Hogan moved first, pushing past and striding down the tunnel towards the radio room. Carter went after him, but it took LeBeau a few moments to follow, and he was breathing hard when he arrived. Kinch was still at the radio, taking rapid notes as he listened to the message in Morse code. The initial excitement on his face was fading into a puzzled frown. As the transmission ended, he tapped out a response.

"I've asked him to stand by for a reply, Colonel," he said, practicality coming first by a short head. Then the words he had wanted to say for hours broke out. "The message is from Newkirk. He's okay, and he's safe for now."

Carter gave a soft exclamation, half gasp, half cheer, and turned to LeBeau. "See, Louis? He's okay. I told you he would be."

"Hold it," Hogan interrupted. "What's the rest of the message, Kinch? And are you sure it's from Newkirk?"

Kinch nodded. "I'm sure. He's using a code name - Salzburg. That was part of the recognition code for the meeting last night. Apart from Newkirk and the contact, I'm the only one this side of the English Channel who knows it. He says Bayreuth is with him; that would be the informant he was meeting. They're holed up in a house in Sonnenstraße - number 13 - hiding out from the Gestapo, and Newkirk's requested further instructions. That's all he says - 'Awaiting further instructions'. The message came to Blackbird from Mistral, by courier, and any reply has to go back the same way. Mistral's radio got damaged last night."

"Why doesn't Newkirk just head back here?" said Carter. "Or go to a safe house?"

"He didn't say. I guess he's got a good reason." Kinch glanced at Hogan. "Blackbird's waiting for a reply, Colonel."

Hogan's eyebrows were drawn together as he considered the information; there wasn't much to go on. "Newkirk's to stay put," he said at last. As Kinch began transmitting, the colonel turned to the others. "Be ready in five minutes. We go out the emergency tunnel, pick up the car at the usual place. Carter, you'll be driving. Get going." He went to the map rack.

Kinch turned from the radio. "Message received, Colonel."

Hogan, studying a street plan of Hammelburg, nodded. "Sonnenstraße is here," he murmured. "Still very close to the old town. I'm guessing Newkirk may have had some difficulty getting away."

"Or one of them got hurt," added Kinch.

"It's a possibility." The worried look deepened on Hogan's face. "It's a real possibility. It's not like Newkirk to be cautious. Normally he'd bring the guy straight back here."

"After what happened last time?" said Kinch quietly.

"Good point. Look, Kinch, I don't know what we're going to find, or how bad things are in Hammelburg, but we could be gone some time. We've got the radio, so I'll try to keep you updated. We'll use the emergency wavelength. If there's any word from Blackbird, or if Mistral gets back on the air, get any information you can. And keep an eye on Klink, in case he decides to send for a doctor after all."

"Will do, Colonel. Be careful out there."

"I always am, Kinch."

"Not today, you're not," muttered Kinch, after he'd gone. "And this time you really need to be."

LeBeau was checking by periscope whether the way was clear, when Hogan joined him and Carter at the foot of the emergency tunnel exit. "They're just changing the guard at the gate, Colonel," he said. The timing was perfect.

Hogan nodded. "Okay, Carter, go. LeBeau, wait one minute, then follow. We'll meet at the car."

They'd done this many times at night, but going out in daylight was always dangerous, and Hogan's tension didn't ease until he reached the car, and found both Carter and LeBeau had made it without being seen.

"Take the south road," he told Carter, as they set off. "We'll stay on this side of the river till we get to the Bernsdorf bridge."

"But, Colonel, that adds an hour to the trip," protested Carter.

"I know, but it's more than probable the streets in the centre of Hammelburg are blocked. If we get caught up in that, we may never get out. Just do it, Carter."

As soon as they cleared the woods, they could see smoke in the distance. "It looks bad," said LeBeau softly. They had learned to accept mistakes of this kind, accidents of war, as regrettable but inevitable. This time it felt different; they had friends in Hammelburg, even if they left Newkirk out of the equation.

Carter's estimate of the extra time required for the longer route had been fairly accurate, but once they got into the city the disorder on the roads slowed them further, and the morning was almost gone by the time they got close to Sonnenstraße. At least the traffic had thinned.

"Boy, I'll be glad to see him," said Carter. "I was really worried."

"We all were, Carter," replied Hogan. He still was, though he didn't say so, and he could tell from the set of LeBeau's features and his unusual silence that he shared in the anxiety. As the car reached the corner of Sonnenstraße, their fears received justification.

"_Sacre chat_, it's an SS convention," whispered LeBeau.

"Keep driving, Carter," said Hogan sharply.

The car proceeded past the intersection, and came to a shuddering halt further down the street.

"We're too late." Carter's voice cracked. "Colonel..."

"Steady, Carter. Let me think." Hogan rubbed his forehead. "Okay, if we want to know what's happened, the best thing to do is ask. Take us down Sonnenstraße, slowly, and stop as soon as I tell you to. And both of you keep an eye out for our favourite Gestapo monster. If he's anywhere in sight, just keep going, don't stop."

There seemed to be a lot of activity around the house where Newkirk was supposed to be. "They're still looking," said LeBeau suddenly.

"Yeah. Maybe they haven't found him yet." Hogan watched the commotion with keen interest. "Pull over here, Carter."

As the car drew up, he got out and approached the lieutenant who appeared to be in charge of the search, and saluted. "Colonel Tauber, Army Intelligence. You seem very busy here."

He had just enough natural authority to pull it off, although the lieutenant wasn't exactly welcoming. "Gestapo business, _Herr Oberst_."

"Well, we mustn't interrupt Gestapo business," murmured Hogan. "However, I wonder if you might be able to help me out. We were to meet someone near here - a _Luftwaffe _captain named Bachmann_._"

LeBeau and Carter exchanged glances. The colonel was really taking chances today.

"We have seen no _Luftwaffe_ personnel," the lieutenant said.

"No?" Hogan gave the man a condescending smile. "I daresay he's keeping out of sight until you leave."

"We found nobody here. Now we are extending the search. If your man turns up, he will be escorted to Gestapo headquarters. You can meet him there. Captain Rohmer is in charge of the case."

"He's not the local man, is he? That would be...what's his name? Hochspitter?"

"Major Hochstetter is assisting." The lieutenant pursed his lips, clearly unwilling to say more. It was tantalising, but Hogan could tell he wasn't going to get anything further out of this guy.

"I'll certainly be in touch with Captain Rohmer, in that case. Thank you for your time. _Heil Hitler._"

He got back into the car. "Get moving, Carter. Don't give him time to have second thoughts."

"What do you think happened, Colonel?" asked Carter anxiously, as he put the car into gear.

"It looks like Newkirk saw them coming, and got himself and Bayreuth out of there." Hogan frowned as he thought the matter through. "Logically, he'd probably make for the nearest safe house." He considered for a few more seconds. "Mistral's the closest. It's worth a shot, and in any case we need to find out if Max is okay."

"Hochstetter's assisting," observed LeBeau.

"Yeah, that's interesting." Hogan was looking out of the window. He turned his head aside, as Hochstetter and another Gestapo officer - Rohmer, presumably - came into sight. The two men appeared to be debating some point of precedence. "And the man he's assisting is only a captain."

"He doesn't look happy about it," said Carter.

Hochstetter barely glanced at the car as it went past. Rohmer seemed likely to pay more attention, but his attention was diverted as the major chose that moment to launch into what looked like one of his classic rants, giving them time to reach the next corner and turn off without hindrance.

"That was close." Carter gave a nervous giggle. "So where to now, Colonel? Mistral?"

"Yep. _Left_, Carter," Hogan added irritably, as Carter started to turn right. "Something here doesn't add up," he went on.

"You mean, apart from the fact that the Krauts got here before we did?" said LeBeau sharply.

Hogan grimaced in acknowledgement. "We're going to have to ask Mistral some pretty hard questions. Blackbird, as well. Somehow the Gestapo got on to where Newkirk was hiding out, and they didn't hear it from us."

He fell silent for a moment, then suddenly added, "Or did they? Stop the car."

Before the vehicle came to a full halt, he was out, opening the trunk and getting the radio working. "Home base, this is Papa Bear, do you read me, over?"

A momentary pause, then Baker's voice replied, "Papa Bear, this is home base, over."

"Urgent action required. Immediate radio silence. Repeat, immediate radio silence. Notify all contacts, then shut down. Please confirm, over."

"Message received," said Baker, after a few seconds. "Will comply. Home base out."

"Colonel, you think they're monitoring our transmissions?" LeBeau had picked up some of Hogan's misgivings.

"Ours, or Blackbird's. Possibly. I don't know. But we can't take the risk."

"It's going to make it harder to find him, if he can't get word back to Kinch."

"Yeah, well, hopefully it'll be harder for the Krauts as well."

Hogan remained thoughtful, as they set off again. Finally, LeBeau spoke. "What's troubling you, _mon Colonel_?"

"A couple of things just don't feel right," replied Hogan. "They don't seem to know Newkirk's in uniform. That SS creep didn't even bat an eyelid when I mentioned it. And Hochstetter's not in charge; this guy Rohmer's running the show."

"What do you think it means?"

"I'm not sure yet," said Hogan slowly. "But I don't think it's Newkirk that's attracted this kind of attention. Whoever Bayreuth is, he's important."

He looked out of the window, towards the centre of Hammelburg, over which a haze of smoke was still visible. "I'm beginning to think I may have sent Newkirk into something a lot more complicated than we thought," he murmured.


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed to Kinch that he'd barely closed his eyes, when someone shook him by the shoulder. "Kinch, Baker wants you."

He blinked, and Saunders gave him another shake. "You awake, Kinch?"

"Just about. What did you say?"

"It's Baker. He said to send you down."

Kinch glanced blearily at his watch; he'd been asleep for just over an hour. He shook his head to clear it, and headed down the ladder to the tunnel. Baker looked up as he came into the radio room.

"We got a problem," he said. "Klink just phoned Stalag 4, asking them to send their medical officer over."

Although he'd only been at Stalag 13 for a couple of months, Baker was already settling comfortably into the fabric of the place. Laconic, with a slow, quiet manner of speech, he hadn't drawn attention at first, but under that relaxed exterior lay a practical intelligence which hadn't taken long to catch both Hogan's and Kinch's notice. The consensus was that he was going to be valuable to the team, once he'd shaken down.

Kinch sighed. "Figures. The minute Colonel Hogan's out of reach, the bald eagle has to decide to think for himself. When's the doctor supposed to be here?"

"Tomorrow morning," said Baker. "Sorry, Kinch. If I'd been quicker, I could have intercepted the call."

"Don't worry, it's fixable. Watch and learn." Kinch gave him a grin, and went to the switchboard to place a call.

"Stalag 4? This is Stalag 13 calling, please hold," he said, in a clipped, nasal manner. He covered the mouthpiece for a moment, took a deep breath, and allowed his voice to slip into a slightly hollow tone with an anxious rising inflection at the end of each sentence. "This is Colonel Klink speaking. I requested your medical officer pay us a call tomorrow...That's right. But I no longer require his assistance...No, please tell him not to bother. Thank you, goodbye...what? Oh, yes, of course. _Heil Hitler._"

Baker was watching, fascinated. Kinch had even adopted Klink's hand gestures and the nervous wrinkle between the eyebrows which was so often seen on the Kommandant's face. As he ended the call, Baker began to laugh.

"Yeah, I know," said Kinch, with a wry smile. "Pretty weird, but it comes in useful."

"You guys can do just about anything, can't you?"

"We're versatile; got one of nearly everything. Chef, demolition expert, pickpocket..." Kinch broke off, remembering they hadn't actually got Newkirk back yet. "At least, I hope we do," he added softly.

Baker held his peace for a moment, but something was still worrying him. "What happens tomorrow when the doctor doesn't turn up? Won't Klink get suspicious?"

"The doctor will be here, provided Carter gets back in time. We'd better line someone else up, in case - Olsen, maybe. His German's perfect, and he's out of camp so much anyway that Klink shouldn't recognise him." Kinch gave his shoulders a stretch. "You can take a break, if you need to," he said. "It can be a bit uncomfortable down here until you get used to it."

"I don't mind it," replied Baker. "It's quieter than the barracks, that's for sure. Anyway, you've got other stuff to see to. I can stick around, if you want."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm happy to help out down here any time, Kinch."

"I'll tell the colonel to put your name on top of the list, in case I ever decide to quit. But don't hold your breath. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

Kinch was halfway up the ladder when Baker called him back. He was leaning forward, concentrating on an incoming radio message.

"It's Papa Bear," he said. "Says we're to shut down - radio silence. Everyone, not just us."

"Confirm it," Kinch ordered tersely.

Baker did so, then turned back to Kinch. "This is bad, right?"

"It could be real bad," said Kinch.

He left Baker to start putting the word around the network, and went back up to the barracks, and from there directly into Hogan's office, where he wouldn't be interrupted. Something had gone seriously wrong. No radio communication; that suggested their transmissions might have been intercepted, and their code broken. Which would mean the Gestapo had known where to find Newkirk as soon as his friends did; and the Gestapo, being closer, could have got there first.

Every so often, it almost got too hard, being the one who had to stay behind. Today was turning into one of those days. There was nothing more he could do to help the outside team, except to keep things running smoothly here at camp. Kinch took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and went to speak to Olsen.

It might have been some consolation to Kinch if he could have known Newkirk was not in Gestapo custody, but he was unlikely to have drawn much comfort from it. The situation was still serious.

"We've got no money, we've got no transport, and we can't contact home base," remarked Newkirk meditatively. "Still, things could be worse."

Elise had long since abandoned her light, teasing manner, and was turning shrewish. "I would love to know how," she said. "Please tell."

"Well, for a start, Wolfgang hasn't caught up with us yet." He'd worked out very quickly that when he referred to her brother-in-law by his first name it really irritated her, so he was doing so at every opportunity. Not out of spite, but because when she was cross, she forgot how tired she was. "And we're neither of us hurt - oh, stop moaning. Bruises don't count. You were lucky not to break your leg. Even luckier not to break mine."

The flight from Sonnenstraße, a couple of hours earlier, had not gone smoothly. The gate from the rear courtyard of the house had let them out onto a narrow footpath which brought them to the levee along the river. Aware of the real possibility of pursuit, Newkirk had enforced a quick pace, until Elise had missed her footing and slipped down the bank. As she had a firm grip on Newkirk's arm, he had gone over as well.

In some respects it had been a lucky accident. The high bank had provided cover for them until they were at a safe distance from the search area. Getting back up from the river's edge had been a scramble, but they'd managed, and come out of it with only minor injuries.

They were heading back towards the old town, and the bridge across to the south side of the river. Newkirk had concluded that his best chance now was to try to reach Blackbird, and send another message home. But the first sight of the bridge came as a shock; the middle span was missing, another casualty of last night's events. Newkirk's reaction was expressed both fluently and imaginatively, in three languages; over the past couple of years he'd learned at least some French, though not the best kind, from LeBeau, and any amount of vulgar German from the guards at Stalag 13.

"Okay," he wound up, when he'd run out of invective, "there should be another bridge about half a mile further along. You up for more walking, princess? Or shall I leave you here and fetch a cab?"

With a glare that should have slain him on the spot, she swung round and set off. He caught up, and took her arm, giving her a deliberately patronising smile. "Wrong direction, darling."

Both of them grew quieter and less antagonistic, as they skirted round the edge of the old town. Their way didn't cross Kaiserplatz, so they were spared the sight of whatever damage had been done to the hotel, but there was plenty to be seen along the river; shattered, smouldering ruins bearing no resemblance to the neat houses which had stood here the day before. It was more of a shock to Elise than to Newkirk.

"Did they have to do that?" she whispered.

"Probably a mistake," he replied. "It happens."

"You don't seem to care very much."

"I'm a Londoner, sweetheart. They're getting worse than this at home, nearly every night. You can't expect me to be too sympathetic."

Soldiers had been brought in to search for casualties and to start clearing the debris, and Newkirk kept up a brisk pace in case one of the officers supervising took it into his head to start checking identity papers. He still had the fake documentation he'd brought from camp, but Elise had left everything at the hotel. It was likely to become a problem, but Newkirk was the right man to fix it.

There were more people in the street as they neared the railway station. Newkirk kept an eye out, looking for any woman with a passing resemblance to Elise; once he found a likely starter, it was just a matter of engineering an opportunity. And it wouldn't be very difficult; the woman he had spotted was headed for the station, and with a lot of people trying to leave town and the trains probably not running, it was pretty crowded in there.

He left Elise outside. "Wait here," he told her. "I'll be two minutes." If it was an optimistic estimate, it certainly wasn't much longer before he returned, with a woman's handbag which he passed into Elise's hands.

"Let's go, before she misses it," he murmured.

He didn't let her check the contents of the bag until they were some distance from the station. "Okay, have a look, see what we've got," he said. "But keep walking."

Elise rummaged through the handbag, and produced the owner's documents. She gazed at the photograph with an expression not far short of outrage. "I don't look like that," she protested.

"Close enough," said Newkirk, glancing at the picture. "You don't look like you did yesterday, you know. Your own mother would probably walk past you in the street."

"My mother would walk past me anyway. She cut me off when I married Stefan," replied Elise. "I haven't seen her for seven years."

They continued in silence for a while, at a slower pace. Newkirk's right leg had taken the full weight of his fall on the river bank, and he was starting to feel some serious discomfort in his knee. Elise was flagging, too. The damage in the streets had upset her emotional equilibrium, and as well Newkirk suspected her feet were hurting a lot; those shoes were not meant for walking. She needed to be distracted.

"What's he like, then, your old man?" he asked her. "Your husband, I mean. Anything like his brother?"

"There's a family resemblance, but Stefan is several years younger." She looked up at him doubtfully. "I don't suppose you've ever had the opportunity to see the best of Wolfgang."

Newkirk laughed. "Not likely. You saying he's got a best?"

"He did have, once. He's always been quite kind to me. But the life he's led, the things he's done for the Reich, and for the Führer - one can't do such things, and stay decent. Stefan was never drawn into that. If you could imagine a best side of Wolfgang, that's what Stefan is like."

She didn't speak for a moment, then went on abruptly. "Stefan came home one day, and he was crying, he couldn't stop. He wouldn't tell me why, he just kept saying, over and over, that it had to be stopped. Not long after, he started sending information to the Allies."

He wasn't going to say so, but Newkirk had a suspicion what it was that had so overset Stefan Hochstetter. London was saying nothing yet, but there were always rumours. Something truly dreadful was going on, deep in the heart of the Reich. "And you helped out?" he said.

"He didn't want me to, and honestly, I didn't want to, either," she admitted. "For a long time, I kept out of it. But it wasn't always easy for him to pass messages to the right people, so eventually I took over that side of the business. I thought about it, and I decided, if it was bad enough to upset Stefan so much, then he was right. It had to be stopped, and that was the only way I could help."

After a long silence, she took a deep, resolute breath. "He's not going to make it to Sweden, is he?"

"I hate to say it, pet, but I don't think he ever got out of Berlin," said Newkirk. No point in softening it; sooner or later, she'd have to know. But an unexpected surge of sympathy roughened his voice. He cleared his throat, and continued. "They turned up last night looking for you. That probably meant they already picked him up."

"Can anything be done for him?" She spoke very low. He didn't answer her.

"Here we go," he said, a few minutes later, as another bridge came into view, around a bend in the river. This one was undamaged, but guarded; not by the SS, to Newkirk's relief. The two men in charge were municipal police, and therefore might not be on the lookout for passing _Luftwaffe _officers. The coat he had borrowed from Max covered his uniform, but his documentation still identified him as Captain Bachmann.

"Now, are we going to pass inspection?" He cast a critical eye over Elise. "Not too bad, considering the day we've had. At least you look respectable, which is probably more than I do."

"A little disreputable," she replied. "You have some dirt on your face - no, the other side, a little higher - oh, let me do it." She rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone. "That's better."

"Thanks, mum." He gave her a grin; it was the first time he'd felt so friendly towards her. "Now, when we get there, don't talk, if you can help it."

Both of them were on edge as they approached the checkpoint. The policeman on duty checked Elise's papers first, and Newkirk almost held his breath; but she was passed with barely a glance. It was a different matter with his own, to his surprise; he'd drawn up the documents himself, shortly before his fall from grace, and he'd been rather pleased with the result.

"You are out of uniform,_ Kapitan_," said the _Wachtmeister_.

"On furlough," replied Newkirk, trying to look relaxed. "And if I'd had any idea of the kind of entertainment you get in Hammelburg at night, I wouldn't have bothered."

The man squinted at the photo, looked up at Newkirk, then looked at the photo again. "You look much older," he observed suspiciously.

Newkirk shrugged. "It's been a long war."

For a few more seconds, which felt like hours, the policeman continued to study the document, then he handed it back. "Very well. On your way."

It was all Newkirk could do to maintain his outward calm, as he took Elise's arm and crossed the bridge, and he could feel her trembling.

"What happens now?" she asked, once they were safely on the south side of the river.

He wavered. The detour to reach this bridge had taken them further from Blackbird than he had intended, and he still hadn't worked out where he would leave Elise while he made contact. Maybe he should just take her along. It would save time, besides making the whole affair less complicated, and much less dangerous. His instinctive feeling, after all that had happened, was that she could be trusted.

_For the moment, love, it was nice..._

He had said those words to Gretel, just at the point when he'd been convinced of her sincerity. He had believed, and trusted, and been misled. Instinct had let him down. It could do so again. He wasn't going to let a moment of fellow feeling catch him out this time round.

"I've got to try to reach the governor again," he said brusquely. "There's another contact on this side of the river."

He considered the possibilities. The Hofbrau, if it hadn't sustained damage, was certain to be open; nothing so minor as an air-raid was likely to discourage the regulars there, but it was likely to be crowded, and some of the patrons might be a little too interested in a woman on her own. The alternative was a small _Weinkeller_ nearby, which was never busy at this time of day, and which had the added advantage that one of the staff was an Underground member, and could keep an eye on Elise without her knowledge.

"There's a place you can wait," he said. "Probably about half an hour's walking distance. Sorry, princess. I know your feet hurt, but it can't be helped. Anyway, it'll be over soon."

"You will come back for me?" Her voice was almost timid; perhaps she had sensed the change in his mood.

He gave her arm a squeeze. "Of course I will. I told you, whatever happens, I'll come back."

He was feeling optimistic, for the first time since he'd set eyes on Elise. Let him just get to Blackbird, and contact Stalag 13, and the colonel would sort it. This whole mess was almost over.

He had no idea yet how far from over it was.


	8. Chapter 8

The café was quiet when Hogan, Carter and LeBeau walked in; the door was unlocked, but there were no lights inside, and no immediate signs of life. Then the owner, hearing their arrival, appeared in the doorway behind the bar. "We're closed - oh, Colonel Hogan, it's you," he said.

"Is Newkirk here, Max?" Anxiety brought Hogan straight to the point.

"Not now. He was here this morning. He said he'd come back, but I haven't heard from him."

Hogan regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Maybe the Gestapo arriving on his doorstep distracted him. We've just come from Sonnenstraße. Who else knew he was there?"

Max stared at him, horrified. "Did they find him? _Gott im Himmel_, he knows everything about us."

"As far as we know they don't have him, yet. You didn't answer my question. Who else knew?"

"Apart from yourself, only my son - he took the message to Blackbird." Max's voice dropped, as he started to understand why Hogan had asked. "You don't think I told them?"

"At the moment, I don't know what I think," Hogan said. "All I know is, they got there first. Where's your radio?"

"In the cellar."

"Go and have a look at it, Carter. LeBeau, check the phone."

"It's dead, _mon Colonel_," said LeBeau.

Max, white with fury, watched silently as Carter went to find the cellar. He came back in less than a minute. "The radio's there, all right, but I can't get near it. It's flooded down there."

Hogan, meeting Max's furious gaze, held up his hands. "Okay, Max. Sorry, but we had to check. Can I have a word with your son?"

For a few seconds it looked like Max would refuse; then he went to the door. "Rolf, come here."

The boy stopped in the doorway at sight of the uniforms, and his eyes widened with apprehension. "It's okay, Rolf," said his father. "This is Papa Bear." He sent a hostile glance at Hogan, daring him to suspect Rolf of anything. Hogan returned the look without any change of expression. Nobody was above suspicion; but he hadn't anticipated having to question a child.

"Rolf," he said quietly, "I want to know about the message you took across the river this morning. You had to pass it to Blackbird, is that right?"

"_Jawohl, mein Herr_."

"Did you go straight there?" Hogan went on.

Rolf looked at his father, then answered in a low voice, "I had to go the long way. The bridge is gone. But I went as fast as I could."

"I'm sure you did. One more thing. Did you speak to anyone else on the way?"

"There were soldiers. I didn't tell them anything."

"So you only spoke to Blackbird?"

"_Ja_."

"That's what I was afraid of." Hogan leaned back, and folded his arms. "Either the Gestapo picked up the radio transmission, or Blackbird's compromised."

That came as a shock to Max, who stared at him in astonishment. "Blackbird? No, it can't be. He's one of our best."

"I know, but it wouldn't be the first time they've managed to get to someone inside the Underground," replied Hogan. "The Gestapo knew where Newkirk was, right down to the street number."

"Colonel, there's no way that can be right. Blackbird's been working for us forever," protested Carter. "He was in before I was. And he did pass on Newkirk's message, and Christina's too."

"Didn't want to blow his cover," muttered LeBeau. His face had the look of intensity that usually meant trouble for someone.

Hogan nodded. "Right. So he put Newkirk's message through as normal, then as soon as he had a chance, he passed it to Gestapo HQ."

Max's anger had started to cool, as he considered the implications of this. He shook his head slowly. "I can't believe he would, but....Colonel Hogan, when Peter was here this morning, he spoke of trying to reach Blackbird. If he's had to leave Sonnenstraße, it's likely that's where he's headed."

"I still don't get it," said Carter. "Why doesn't Newkirk just head for home?"

"I don't know if it's significant," Max replied, "but he told me he wasn't sure of the woman."

"What woman?" The question came simultaneously from Hogan and LeBeau.

"He didn't say. Only that he wasn't alone, and he wasn't sure of her, so he wouldn't bring her here."

"So, Bayreuth is a woman," murmured Hogan. "Figures." He glanced at LeBeau, who nodded. They both knew now why Newkirk was being so cautious, and why he hadn't brought the informant back to camp. Carter had worked it out too, but as he started to speak, LeBeau nudged him. Newkirk's indiscretion had never been mentioned outside Stalag 13, and there was no need to let the cat out of the bag now.

"If Blackbird is working for the other side, the last thing we want is for Newkirk to get in touch with him," Hogan went on. "Blackbird's got nothing on us. We've never had a reason to tell him about the whole Stalag 13 setup. But Newkirk's a different matter."

"He'd never talk," interjected LeBeau fiercely.

"Maybe not, but Hochstetter would know him on sight, which is all he'd need. And anyway, I'll be damned if I let them get their hands on him," said Hogan.

He folded his arms, frowning in thought. "The main bridge over the river is down. Where's the nearest alternative crossing point? Rolf, which way did you go?"

The boy went red, as everyone turned to look at him. "_Die Neue Brücke,_" he stammered.

"The new bridge, down the river, a little over half a mile," explained his father. "If Peter tried the main bridge first, he'd be certain to keep going the same way rather than backtrack."

"There were _Polizei_ there," Rolf added. "They were checking everyone's papers."

Hogan frowned. "Newkirk had his documents in order when he left Stalag 13, but God knows what's happened since then."

"He'd think of something," said Carter.

"That's what worries me. If he gets across the river, and makes it to Blackbird...What was the traffic like, Rolf? Can we get there quickly by car?"

Rolf shook his head. "There were trucks, and soldiers, and some streets are blocked."

"Okay, we'll detour around the old town." Hogan straightened decisively. "Max, you'll have to lie low till we find out what the story is with Blackbird. Get your family out of town, if you can."

"My family are going, but I will stay," replied Max. "Some of our people may try to get in touch, or Peter may come back."

"If he does, tell him to head back to camp," said Hogan. "And he's to take the lady with him. LeBeau, Carter - " He glanced towards the door, and as they took the hint, he turned back to the café owner. "Look, Max, for what it's worth - and I know it's not much right now - we're not happy about last night, either."

"I know. You'd better go and find him. Let me know."

"We'll be in touch." Hogan gave him a nod in farewell, and followed his men to the car.

The strategy of avoiding the congested streets in the centre of Hammelburg might have worked out, if Carter hadn't been so worried that he allowed his concentration to waver. All it took was one wrong turn.

"Not here, Carter," said Hogan sharply, just too late. The car was already halfway around the corner.

Carter slammed on the brakes as soon as he realised what he'd done. The street in front was chaotic; narrow, scattered with debris and almost completely obstructed by other vehicles.

"Damn it, Carter, what were you thinking?" Hogan leaned forward, gazing at the confusion ahead with dismay.

"Sorry, Colonel," stammered Carter. He put the vehicle into reverse, but a lorry had followed them around the corner, and now blocked the intersection.

LeBeau turned on him, uttering a few choice phrases in his own language, to which Carter responded with unusual heat. "Okay, I made a mistake. Just shut up, LeBeau." He inched the car forward, trying to figure out a way past the trucks which took up almost the entire width of the street.

"Go around on the right," said Hogan. "I don't think you'll get booked for going on the footpath today."

"There's no way," muttered Carter, as he swung the wheel and prepared to mount the kerb. It would be a close fit, between a freestanding stone wall on one side, and an army truck on the other, and he was already rattled by his error. The car crept forward a few feet, stopped, moved on a little further, then stopped again.

"_Pour l'amour de Dieu!_ " LeBeau flung the door open and scurried around the front of the car to the driver's side. "Move over," he said curtly.

"I suppose you think you can do better?" Carter snapped back, scrambling out of his way.

"Carter, I've driven in Paris, during a general strike, when the _Métro_ wasn't running," replied LeBeau scornfully. "This will be a picnic compared to that."

Carter gave a contemptuous sniff and folded his arms. The long sleepless night and the continuing uncertainty about Newkirk's well-being and whereabouts were playing badly on everyone's nerves; there was likely to be one hell of a dust-up between these two before long, if they didn't find their missing man. For the time being, LeBeau worked off his ill temper by showing them how to fit a large object through a small space, doing so much too fast for safety, and leaving some paint behind on the stonework.

"Oh, that was real clever," remarked Carter.

"Who cares? It's only Klink's staff car."

"Doesn't mean you have to wreck it, does it?"

"If it gets us out of the mess you just got us into, I don't care what I do to it."

"Okay, you two, that'll do." Hogan's voice cut through the promising squabble. "LeBeau, take the next right. That should bring us to Kaiserplatz, and from there we can get out of here."

"Isn't Kaiserplatz where the hotel is?" Carter said hesitantly.

Hogan didn't reply. As the car passed along the end of the square, he looked out at the shattered remains of the Alte Residenz.

"That's not just from the bombing," he murmured.

"No." Carter's expert eye was assessing the destruction. "They hit the building off-centre. Most of that is fire damage." He fell silent, then added, in a low, troubled voice, "Must have been bad for anyone inside."

"He got out, Carter."

"I know." Carter didn't say any more; there was no point in dwelling on it. Soon it was out of sight.

Time was lost escaping the disorder of the town centre, even though LeBeau drove in a manner calculated to shorten lives. Hogan began to wonder if they'd have been better off to get out and walk. But finally the chaos around them lessened, and they began to pick up speed.

It had taken too long to get this far. If Newkirk was heading for Blackbird's place, he had a long lead.

The _Polizei_ were still on duty when they reached the bridge. LeBeau was in just the mood to crash the barrier, but he restrained his impatience at a word from Hogan, and brought the car to a halt. The man in charge approached the car with something of a swagger, and tapped on the driver's window. He appeared to be one of those little tyrants whose sole purpose was to make life a misery for the local citizens. "_Ausweis, bitte_."

LeBeau gave him a smouldering glare, but before he could tear into the man, Hogan spoke. "One moment, please." He got out of the car, and gave the policeman a bored look, as he held out his _Abwehr_ pass. The change in the man's attitude was almost ludicrous.

"I beg your pardon, _Herr Oberst_," he faltered. "I didn't know..."

"Of course you didn't," replied Hogan. "Your name?"

"Schadt, _mein Herr_."

"You're doing an excellent job," Hogan observed, with a cynical smile. "Perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for a man who may have passed this way - a Captain Bachmann, _Luftwaffe_."

Schadt, recovering some of his self-importance, frowned as he consulted his notebook. "A _Luftwaffe _officer passed here at exactly 12.28. He was not in uniform," he said at length. "His papers were in order, but I thought he looked suspicious - a bit shady, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, he's shady, all right," replied Hogan. "Was he alone?"

"There was a woman with him."

That would be Bayreuth. Hogan was starting to feel curious about her. "What did she look like?"

"I didn't notice her particularly. Average height, fair colouring, nothing special."

"Did you see which way they went?"

"No, _Herr Oberst_. Once they are across the river, they're not my responsibility."

_And that's the attitude that's going to lose you guys the war_, thought Hogan.

"Good work," he said. "Carry on."

"We're more than an hour behind him," observed LeBeau, as he set the car in motion. "He'll be there by now."

"Then we better get moving."

The traffic on the south side of the river was sufficiently busy to require LeBeau's full attention. He was unprepared for the sudden frenzied grip on his arm, or the half-choked cry from Carter. "Stop the car!"

LeBeau reacted by reflex, and the car jerked to a halt, then juddered forward again at the rear-end impact from the vehicle behind. Hogan swore. "Carter, what the hell...?" he began, but Carter was out of the car, racing back along the street in the direction they had just come from.

"There!" exclaimed LeBeau, and the next moment he was away, too.

Carter had already caught up with the man he had spotted as they had driven past. He grabbed him by the arm. "Newkirk, we've been looking everywhere for you," he stuttered, almost incoherent with relief. "Where have you been?"


	9. Chapter 9

Newkirk stood silently for a moment, blinking at Carter as if unable to believe he was really there. "That was quick," he murmured, almost to himself.

The next moment, a small whirlwind of rage descended on him. "_Newkirk, que tu m'as fait peur!_ What do you think you are playing at? We have been all over Hammelburg trying to find you, _fils de garce_!"

"We waited all night, and we never heard from you," Carter put in. He was still clutching Newkirk's sleeve as if he was afraid to let go. "We were worried sick, when we heard what happened. Jeez, Newkirk, can't you keep out of trouble for ten minutes?"

Before Newkirk could gather his wits enough to reply, LeBeau was off again. "All day we've been searching. For all we knew, the Gestapo had you in a cell somewhere. Do you have any idea what we went through today?"

"If you want to attract attention," interjected Hogan, as he joined the group standing stationary in the middle of the passing foot traffic, "you're going the right way about it."

Carter looked ashamed of himself. LeBeau fell silent, but his eyes still blazed.

"It's okay, LeBeau," the colonel went on. "I moved the car from the middle of the road, and got rid of the guy that just ran into us. You're welcome." LeBeau went scarlet, and lowered his eyes; then, with an inarticulate exclamation, reached out to grasp Newkirk's arm.

Hogan turned a keen glance on Newkirk. "You okay?"

"I am now, sir." Newkirk's shoulders dropped a little, and a weary smile briefly crossed his face. He looked far from okay, but Hogan let it go.

"Where's Bayreuth?"

Newkirk looked puzzled. "I forgot I said that," he said, after a moment. "I left her at the _Weinkeller_. Bruno's keeping an eye on her. Colonel, there's something..."

"Later, Newkirk. You've seen Blackbird?"

"Just on my way back from there."

Hogan's expression darkened. "Then we'd better get to the _Weinkeller_, fast."

He didn't let Newkirk speak again until they were in the car. "What happened at Blackbird's place?" he asked, once they were underway.

"Blackbird, sir?" Newkirk rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. "He got on the radio to Kinch, and a message came back that I was to go back to the _Weinkeller_, and wait for you."

Hogan's eyes met LeBeau's in the rear-view mirror. "Can you get us there any faster, LeBeau?" he said grimly.

"I will get us there, don't worry," LeBeau replied.

Newkirk stared at the colonel, clearly at sea. "Colonel, what's up?"

"Blackbird didn't contact Kinch," said Hogan. "We shut down the radio a couple of hours ago, after we found the Gestapo in Sonnenstraße. So if Blackbird says Kinch sent him a reply, then Blackbird is lying."

It took a few seconds for Newkirk to grasp the significance of this. "Oh, sodding hell, they'll know where she is," he whispered.

"Take it easy, Newkirk. We'll get there," said Hogan.

For a moment, Newkirk seemed bewildered. Then he shook his head. "Stop, LeBeau," he said abruptly.

Hogan contradicted him at once. "Keep driving."

"No, wait a minute, Colonel. I have to tell you something about her, about who she is. It's important."

"You can talk on the way." Hogan kept his voice calm. "Who is she?"

Newkirk took a couple of deep breaths. "Her name's Elise."

"Nice," said Hogan. "Pretty name."

"You won't like the rest of it," replied Newkirk, with a hollow laugh. "Elise Hochstetter."

The staff car came within inches of another rear-end collision, as LeBeau hit the brakes.

"Keep going, LeBeau," Hogan snapped. Then he turned back to Newkirk. "Well?"

"She's married to his brother. Says her husband's the source of the information she's been supplying, and that their cover's blown and she has to get out of Germany. Until we arrange it, she won't give us the information." Newkirk bit his lower lip; his nervous tension was obvious.

"Do you believe her?"

"I don't know. After Gretel - after the last time..." His voice broke off, and he looked out of the window. "She's his sister-in law. We don't know anything about her or her husband. Hochstetter was at the hotel. There's all kinds of reasons to think she's setting us up, but...Colonel, I have to go back, I promised I'd go back. But I can't tell you if she's on the level, because I just don't know."

Hogan watched him intently. "You're overthinking, Newkirk," he said. "Stop trying to reason it through. What does your gut instinct say? Do you believe her?"

"Yes." The reply came instantly.

"Then let's get her out of there."

Newkirk let his breath go, and finally relaxed.

"I guess we know now why Hochstetter's not in charge," observed Hogan, as he fitted the new information into the existing pattern. "With the family connection, I'm surprised they let him anywhere near it."

"She thinks he's the one that shopped them." Newkirk leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. "Wouldn't surprise me if she's right."

"What about the husband?"

"He was making his own way to Sweden, but I don't like his chances."

The _Weinkeller_ was in a narrow side street, and LeBeau had to go a little way further along before he could park. "Stay here, and keep the motor running," Hogan told him. "You stay too, Carter. Newkirk, come with me."

He noticed, as they crossed the street, that Newkirk was limping slightly. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Came a cropper on the river bank, after we left Sonnenstraße," Newkirk replied with a slight grimace. "Must have come down harder than I thought."

He went into the bar first. Hogan, following, was glad to see that apart from the barman, the only person there was the woman they'd come to fetch. If the Gestapo did turn up, it was best if they didn't find anyone. Newkirk headed straight for the table where Elise was waiting.

"Okay, princess," he said encouragingly. "Everything's fine, now."

She wasn't what Hogan had expected; slender, medium height, badly dressed, probably attractive when at her best, but so drawn and tired-looking that it was difficult to imagine. She looked up at Newkirk with a scowl. "You took your time, again."

"Barely an hour. You're not going up in the air about that, are you?"

Her eyes had wandered past him to Hogan, and she froze, eyes wide with alarm. Newkirk glanced at the colonel, and said reassuringly. "It's alright, this is the governor."

"But..." she faltered, still staring at Hogan's uniform.

"I know. I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I'm not in the _Luftwaffe_, either." Newkirk's voice had taken on an edge of sarcasm; it jolted her out of her state of shock into one of petulance.

"I never thought you were," she snapped back. "They have standards."

"So do I, love. At least, I did have, before I met you."

Hogan moved across to the bar, where the barman was casually polishing glasses while he watched the blossoming dispute. "Bruno, you'd better close up and make yourself scarce," he said quietly. "The Gestapo could be right behind us."

"There's a problem?" Bruno, a skinny little man from Alsace, peered at him; the thick lenses of his spectacles magnified his eyes in a manner which took some getting used to. His accent was sometimes difficult to follow; Germans thought he sounded too French, LeBeau reckoned he sounded too German. To save trouble he generally spoke to Hogan in the English he'd learned from watching American movies.

"Big problem. Don't contact Blackbird." Hogan saw from the look on Bruno's face that he understood; the man was as sharp as they came.

Hogan turned to the combatants, who appeared to be entering the second round. "Excuse me," he said. "When you're both finished, it'd be nice to get out of here before anyone turns up who we don't want to meet."

Newkirk held up his hands apologetically. "Sorry, Colonel, but I've had to put up with this all bleedin' day, and it gets a bit wearing after a while."

Before either Elise or Hogan could reply to this, the door swung open, and Carter irrupted into the bar. "Colonel, we got company."

"Damn!" muttered Hogan. He strode to the door.

"Hochstetter?" said Newkirk. Without thinking, he took Elise's hand as she moved closer to him.

"Him and the other one - Rohmer, the one in charge. Bruno, where's the back entrance?"

"There isn't one," replied Bruno. "The owner had it bricked over. People were sneaking out without paying."

"Isn't that a fire hazard?" said Carter. "Boy, I'm never drinking here."

"As things stand, you may never get the chance, Carter. Watch the door." Hogan turned back to Bruno. "Any other way out?"

"The cellar door, but it's double padlocked from outside." Bruno looked worried.

"They're at each other again, Colonel," Carter reported. "Gee, they really don't like each other, do they?"

"What's to like?" said Newkirk.

Hogan cut across this. "Carter, come here - Newkirk, the door. Okay, Carter, it's not so long since you did your German general bit for Hochstetter. Do you think you can change it slightly, just enough to fool him again now?"

"Oh, sure, Colonel," replied Carter in a matter-of-fact tone. He was perfectly confident about it. Whatever it was that kicked in, whenever he did this, it always seemed to work; even Klink, who saw him every day in camp, never recognised him.

"Good. You're now Colonel Tauber," said Hogan, taking off his top-coat. "You're interrogating Bruno, and you're not very happy at the interruption. The people who were here left when you arrived." He regarded Carter thoughtfully. Even though so far he'd somehow always escaped Hochstetter's notice, it wouldn't hurt to have an extra layer of disguise. "Bruno, give him your glasses."

"He won't be able to see through them," Bruno pointed out.

"Doesn't matter. He won't need to. When they get here, don't say anything. Leave it to Carter."

Carter was rapidly buttoning the jacket Hogan had taken off and given him. It was to be hoped Hochstetter and his fellow Gestapo wouldn't notice Colonel Tauber's uniform was a little too big. He threw the topcoat over his shoulders, and put on Bruno's glasses. "Holy cow!" he exclaimed, screwing up his eyes.

"Heads up," hissed Newkirk from the door.

Hogan nodded. "Into the cloakroom," he said. "Frau Hochstetter..."

Elise, who had been standing dumbstruck by the turn of events, gave a start. Newkirk held out his hand. "Come on, no time for standing about." He grabbed her arm and followed Hogan into the small alcove, screened by a curtain, to the left of the door. Carter pushed Bruno back towards the bar, and stood facing him.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

"The bar is closed," said Carter coldly, without taking his eyes off Bruno.

"Nowhere is closed to the Gestapo." The voice was unfamiliar, but the attitude was the same as every one of them. Carter turned, with a look of pitying scorn.

"New at the job, are you, Captain?" he inquired. "Colonel Tauber, _Abwehr_. I don't care to be interrupted at my work."

Rohmer wasn't taking that; there was no love lost between the two agencies. "We have information that two enemy spies are on these premises," he said.

Carter allowed his gaze to wander across the empty tables, blinking a little behind the thick lenses. "Invisible spies, apparently. Very clever, these Allies."

"We are quite sure they were here. A woman, blonde, one hundred sixty centimetres, slender build, very attractive, and a man, approximately one hundred eighty centimetres, dark hair, foreign accent."

_They know about Newkirk, _thought Hogan. _Blackbird must have told them. I'll have that bastard, when I get the chance. _He glanced at Newkirk, who was leaning against the wall, breathing fast. Elise was huddled against him, with her face hidden against his shoulder. They might not like each other, but whatever they'd been through together had made her trust him, all right.

"Yes, they were here when I arrived," said Carter, after a moment's cogitation. "Very suspicious characters, both of them. They left."

"You didn't stop them?" Rohmer stuttered indignantly.

There was a long silence before Carter replied. "You really are new at this, aren't you, Captain? My business is with this man; I had no reason to stop them. The _Abwehr_ doesn't provide a safety net for incompetent Gestapo. No matter how much you need the help." He turned his attention back towards the barman. "They went off to the left, towards the river. Close the door on your way out."

Rohmer remained where he was, apparently paralysed with anger. But it was Hochstetter who replied. "Colonel Tauber, the _Abwehr _may find soon that it needs more than a safety net. If I were you I wouldn't start any long-term investigations."

He turned to his colleague. "Whenever you're ready, Captain Rohmer." The icy contempt in his voice spoke volumes. "If you don't want them to walk all the way to England before we catch up, I suggest we move quickly."

Rohmer glared at him, then snapped a salute in Carter's direction. "_Heil Hitler!_"

Carter returned the salute without showing the slightest interest. He watched them leave the building; maintained his persona for a few extra seconds, then snatched the glasses off and rubbed his eyes fiercely with the heel of his palm. "They're gone, Colonel." He blinked several times, trying to bring everything back into focus.

Newkirk limped over to the door, and peered out through the frosted glass panel. "They're still hanging about," he said. "Arguing, from the look of it."

"Yeah, they're doing that a lot," replied Hogan. "Which is good, but doesn't get us out of here." He glanced at Elise, as she dropped onto the first chair she came to; then he turned his attention to Bruno, and a thoughtful crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"Hochstetter and that other geezer are off," Newkirk reported. "Towards the river, like you told them, Andrew."

"Yeah, I just said that because LeBeau's in the other direction," replied Carter, still trying to get his eyes back to normal. "Is it all clear?"

"No, they've left a couple of men to watch the place. Sorry, Colonel. Things haven't gone well today."

"Boy, you can say that again," murmured Carter.

Hogan folded his arms, still meditating. "Not your fault, Newkirk. Anyway, I think we can deal with it. Bruno, can I have a word?"

"You should go sit down, Newkirk," said Carter, squinting at him. "You look all in. I'll watch the door."

Newkirk shook his head. "Don't fuss, Carter." He sent a quick look at the colonel, who was conferring quietly with Bruno. The discussion didn't take long. Bruno nodded in agreement to whatever had been suggested, and went behind the bar.

"Okay," said Hogan. "I've got a plan, but for it to work, everyone needs to do exactly what they're told to do. Understand?" He looked directly at Carter as he spoke.

"Sure, Colonel." Carter tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed on his commanding officer.

"Good. Because this is a direct order, Carter, and you're to follow it to the letter. In a few minutes, you and Frau Hochstetter will walk out of here, get in the car and go straight back to camp." He turned to Elise. "You're about Bruno's height and not much thinner, so you'll be wearing his pants and jacket. It should be enough to get you past those guys out there. If they ask, Carter, you're taking Bruno in for further interrogation."

"Colonel," interrupted Carter, "what about the rest of you?"

"Not your problem, Carter. Your job is to get the lady back to camp."

"You're staying behind?" Carter's eyes widened as he took this in.

"For now. The first priority is to get Frau Hochstetter to safety, and that's your responsibility."

"Couldn't Newkirk...?"

"It's an order, Carter. Understood?"

"Understood, Colonel." Carter's voice was a little unsteady. He turned towards Newkirk, tried to speak, then just shook his head. Newkirk smiled ruefully.

"Andrew, it's alright," he said. "You'll see, we'll probably get there before you do."

"Sure you will." Carter started fiddling with the decorations on the colonel's jacket; they seemed to require all his attention.

Bruno, his modesty protected by the high counter, had taken off his pants; he held them out towards Elise, who seemed dazed by the turn of events.

"Go and change," said Newkirk. "Don't go all shy on us now, darling."

She glared at him, snatched the pants from Bruno and vanished into the cloakroom. A couple of minutes later she came out, clutching the top of the trousers which were very loose around the waist. "This just keeps getting worse," she remarked. "If anyone should see me like this, I will never live it down."

"She's back on form," muttered Newkirk. "Let's have a look then, princess." He studied her with a professional tailor's eye. "They're a poor fit. Good job you wear braces, Bruno. Let's have the jacket, and see how it sits."

Once the jacket was on, with the collar turned up and Elise's hair tucked inside, it wasn't so bad. Bruno's hat completed the disguise. "There you go, love," said Newkirk. "You look charming. Now, off you go. My mate Carter will look after you from here on, and you'll be glad to know he's much more of a gentleman than I am, and knows how to take care of a lady."

He sent a warning look towards Carter. _You'd better know how to take care of a lady, Andrew_, was the silent message.

Carter read it correctly. He took Elise's arm, and tried to hide his distress; and if he didn't quite succeed, at least he had made the effort. "Colonel, what if they follow us?" he asked seriously.

Hogan had taken Newkirk's place at the door. "Then LeBeau will just have to lose them. But they won't. Their orders are probably to watch the building. One thing they don't encourage in the ranks is initiative. If Stalin walked past, those two would ignore him and keep watching the building."

He turned to Elise. "Keep your head down, and don't make eye contact, and you'll be fine. Newkirk, kill the lights. We're closed for business."

Straightening up, and lifting his head, Carter got back into the shell of the _Abwehr_ colonel. He tightened his grip on Elise's elbow, and steered her out onto the street. The two SS men were lounging against a car almost directly outside the building; at sight of the colonel, they came to attention.

Carter regarded them with scornful amusement. "Very good. Anyone would think you were real soldiers. Are you waiting for someone? _Reichsführer_ Himmler, perhaps?"

"_Bitte, Herr Oberst_," replied one of the men, "our orders are to watch the building." Hogan's exact words; he'd read them like a book.

"And you're doing an excellent job," said Carter acidly. "I will mention it in my report."

He saluted, and strode past them, leading Elise towards the staff car where LeBeau was waiting. Yanking the door open, he pushed her into the back seat and got in next to her.

"Go, Louis," he snapped.

LeBeau stared at him. "Where are...?"

"They'll follow later." Carter's voice broke, and he passed a hand across his face.

"No. We can't leave them," said LeBeau forcefully.

"Colonel's orders, LeBeau. We're to go back to camp." Carter glanced over his shoulder, but the SS men had returned to their surveillance of the _Weinkeller_. Then he looked at Elise. His own ingrained courtesy, as well as Newkirk's parting hint, prevented him from saying what was on his mind, so he turned away, and gazed out of the window.

_I hope you're worth it, lady, _he thought.


	10. Chapter 10

_You'd hardly think he was halfway up the wall worrying about them_, thought Baker, watching Kinch out of the corner of his eye.

It was true, though. There was no restlessness, no irritability; Kinch just got quieter as the day went on. But the crease between his eyebrows became more noticeable as the hours passed, and he watched the entrance from the emergency tunnel almost constantly.

"Is it always like this?" Baker asked him, after a couple of hours.

"It's never easy, Baker. Some days are worse than others." Kinch stretched his back, trying to ease the ache in his shoulders. "If you're going to be on the team, you might as well get used to it. There's one essential rule on assignments - don't attract attention. In Germany, that's not an easy rule for some of us to follow. So most of the time the other guys go out and take all the risks, and we stay home and mind the store."

"That's tough," observed Baker.

"Yeah. Especially when I know I speak German better than any of them. You ever heard Newkirk? I don't know how he gets away with it, sometimes."

"Carter's the one that amazes me," said Baker. Kinch was starting to relax; it seemed a good idea to keep him talking. "I couldn't believe it, when he did that Kraut general act of his."

Kinch gave him a half-smile. "Don't get taken in by that gormless look. Carter's a lot smarter than most people think, himself included. And the things he knows how to do, nobody does them better."

He glanced down the tunnel again, then suddenly stood up, listening. The next moment, he strode forward, as first LeBeau, then Carter and a woman emerged from the dimly-lit passage.

"You made it. Took you long enough," he said. "I was starting to..." His voice broke off, as he took in LeBeau's pinched, brooding expression, and the wide-eyed despair on Carter's face, and realised there was nobody else with them. It took him three attempts to speak. "Where are they?"

"We had to leave them." LeBeau tugged off his gloves. "We had him safe for ten minutes, and then we had to leave him behind, and Colonel Hogan as well."

Kinch stared at him, unable to take it in. LeBeau flung the gloves onto the radio table. "The Gestapo were watching the place," he went on. "Carter brought her out, but the others stayed behind." He jerked his head towards the woman, who was still standing in the tunnel entrance, looking around with an expression of distaste.

"It's Bayreuth, Kinch," added Carter unsteadily. "Newkirk's contact."

Kinch's eyes fixed on her. A woman, on his first assignment since the Gretel fiasco; no wonder Newkirk hadn't been game to bring her back to Stalag 13. "Okay," said Kinch. "I get it."

"No, you don't," LeBeau shot back fiercely. "_Elle __est la belle-soeur de ce cochon Hochstetter._"

"She's what?" Kinch was almost stupefied by the information.

"I speak French, you know," interrupted the lady herself.

"Well, I don't," Baker put in, looking puzzled.

Nor did Carter, but he understood anyway. "She's Hochstetter's sister-in-law. Newkirk said she was okay, and Colonel Hogan said to bring her home. So if you've got a problem, LeBeau..."

"Okay, stop right there." Kinch put his hand on LeBeau's shoulder as the little Frenchman started forward. "Don't make things worse than they already are." He turned to the woman. "Is it true?"

She gave him a defiant look. "My name is Elise Hochstetter. My husband is Wolfgang's brother."

"Newkirk said she was okay," repeated Carter stubbornly.

Kinch took a few seconds to decide whether Newkirk's recommendation was acceptable. "Then I guess she's okay. Staff Sergeant Kinchloe, ma'am. Welcome to Stalag 13. The accommodation is a little basic, but it's safe." He was sure she needed to hear that word, and he knew at once he was right; her lips started to tremble, and she lowered her eyes.

Neither Carter nor LeBeau had moved. Kinch glanced at both of them, trying to assess each man's state of mind. He wasn't happy with the conclusions he came to. "Baker," he said, "take the lady to the sleeping quarters - you know where they are? And see if you can get some hot water, so she can clean up a bit; she'll feel better for it."

As Baker, following both Kinch's instructions and his example, escorted Elise with grave courtesy from the radio room, Kinch turned his attention back to the other two. Carter had sat down in front of the radio when Baker left, and was leaning on the table with his head on his hands.

"What happened?" asked Kinch.

"Carter got us lost in Hammelburg," growled LeBeau. Carter flinched, but LeBeau went on relentlessly. "Newkirk got to Blackbird before we could stop him. By the time we found him, the Gestapo already knew where he was going to be."

"Hold on a second." Kinch looked from one to the other. "What was that about Blackbird?"

"The Gestapo were in Sonnenstraße when we got there." LeBeau flushed with anger. "We worked out Blackbird told them."

"No way," said Kinch.

"That's what I said." Carter raised his head. "But when we found Newkirk, he'd just been there, and Blackbird told him to go back to the _Weinkeller_ and wait, on your instructions, Kinch. The Gestapo got there two minutes after we did."

"Okay, I'm already confused. Go from the top."

Carter leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. "LeBeau, you tell him."

"They got to Sonnenstraße ahead of us." LeBeau spoke low and very quickly. "That was why _le colonel _called in and told you to cut out all radio contact. We followed Newkirk across town, but by the time we found him, he'd already spoken to Blackbird, who had told him he contacted you, and got instructions for Newkirk to wait for us at the _Weinkeller_. We knew he was lying, because the radio was down. Newkirk had left her with Bruno, so we had to go there to pick her up. The Gestapo arrived before we could get away."

"Oh, man," muttered Kinch. "Blackbird, of all people. He's one of our best operatives."

"One of theirs, as well," said LeBeau bitterly.

"So what about Colonel Hogan and Newkirk?"

"I had to leave them, Kinch. It was a direct order." Carter dropped his head back on to his hands. "I had to leave them," he repeated, just above a whisper.

"They had men watching the building," LeBeau explained sullenly. "Carter brought her out, but the others stayed. Bruno, as well."

It was obvious there was more to the story, but these two were in no state to give a clear report. LeBeau was too angry, and Carter too guilt-stricken. Calming the pair of them down was the first necessity. Somewhere at the back of Kinch's awareness, a tiny voice kept telling him this couldn't be happening, but he would have to deal with that later.

He put his hand on Carter's shoulder, and gave him a gentle shake. "Andrew, if the colonel told you to go, you had to go. At least we've got you two back safely, and Bayreuth as well. Get out of that uniform, and then go up to the barracks and get some sleep. I know - you think you can't. But we might need you later. If there's anything that can be done, we're going to do it, right? So go get some rest."

"You think there's something we can do?"

"I don't know, until I get more information. But I'm not ready to give up yet." Kinch nodded towards the tunnel. "Don't make me tell you again," he added, in the closest approximation of Hogan's tone and manner that he could manage. It raised the ghost of a smile from Carter, as he went off to change into his own clothes.

Kinch turned back to LeBeau. "Louis, I know it hurts, but you can't take it out on Carter."

"I know," LeBeau passed a hand across his forehead. "But we had him, Kinch, and then we lost them both."

"We'll get them back, if it's at all possible. Look, they'll probably get themselves out of it. When was the last time the colonel couldn't come up with some plan or other? And Newkirk's never short of ideas, either. If anyone had to be left to fend for themselves, they're the best equipped to deal with it." He gave LeBeau a minute or so to absorb that before he went on. "What about her? Do we know the story?"

"There wasn't time for Newkirk to tell us much. He said her husband - Hochstetter's brother - was the informant, and that they had to get out of Germany." The anger which had sustained LeBeau until now was starting to give way to exhaustion and grief; he was calmer, but it was the calm of despair.

"I'll speak to her. You go and change, and get some sleep if you can. And sort it out with Carter, Louis. He's pretty cut up about it."

LeBeau took himself off to the wardrobe store, while Kinch went to find Elise in the sleeping quarters that normally accommodated Allied servicemen staying over on the way to England. Baker passed him in the tunnel.

"She's a piece of goods, that one," he murmured. "Wants to know why there's no bath. Newkirk was probably glad to get rid of her."

Kinch raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like we're in for an interesting time. Look, Baker, I know it's been a long day, but if you can stay on duty for another hour, it'd be a big help. If the Gestapo have taken them, it's possible Hochstetter will phone here as soon as he realises who he's got, so we need to monitor all incoming calls."

Baker headed off to the radio room, and Kinch proceeded into the sleeping quarters, where he found Elise perched gingerly on the edge of one of the camp beds that were kept there. Baker had found her a clean set of fatigues, which were loose but likely to be more comfortable than the clothes she'd arrived in. The look on her face as she inspected her new environment gave every indication of dissatisfaction

"I warned you it was basic, ma'am," he said.

She gave him a sour look. "There's basic, and there's primitive. What you have here is not basic."

It was on the tip of Kinch's tongue to reply in kind, when he noticed that she had her fingers interlaced so tightly as to threaten the circulation. She wasn't just being difficult for the sake of it; she was trying to keep a grip on an emotional state barely on the safe side of complete panic. He felt a rising wave of compassion; she might not be the most _simpatico_ of visitors, but she'd had a really bad day, and was among unfriendly strangers. He could only imagine what the trip here with Carter and LeBeau had been like, and he couldn't blame her for being prickly.

"I know it doesn't look much," he said. "We charge extra for the rooms with a view." He scrutinised her carefully. "Are you okay? You weren't hurt at all?"

"Nothing serious. My feet hurt a little." Judging by the blisters that were visible now that she'd taken off her shoes, they probably hurt a lot.

"I'd better see to that," murmured Kinch, and went to fetch the first-aid kit.

He sat down on the next cot while he attended to the damage. "Can you tell me what happened last night?" he asked, as he gently washed away the dirt. "I need a clear picture, and I'm not getting much sense from those two who brought you here."

"It's perfectly simple, sergeant." She paused, clasping her fingers even tighter. "Your man met me as arranged, but because I wouldn't give him the information he came for, he wasn't able to leave before the Gestapo came. So if anything has happened to him, I am responsible for it."

"Go on," said Kinch quietly.

"He got me out. He looked after me, and kept me safe when...I'm sorry, I am trying." Her voice had started to break, as her self-control wavered. "I don't even know his name."

"Newkirk. Corporal Peter Newkirk."

Elise considered that, mentally fitting the unfamiliar name to the man. "I knew he wasn't an officer," she murmured at last, and once more Kinch had to hold his tongue.

"You should get some sleep," he said, finishing the treatment of her feet. "If you need anything, someone will be in the radio room."

"Thank you," she said. Then, apparently aware that she'd somehow offended him, she added, "I didn't mean he wasn't good enough."

"I hope not, ma'am. Newkirk's one of our best."

As he got up to leave, she remembered something. "What about the information I was to give him? The names of the German agents in London? I told him that once he got me here..."

"Later. We can't pass them on till we're cleared to use the radio again."

"I'd rather do it now," she said, gazing at him. "That was the agreement - as soon as I arrived."

She'd almost reached her limit. It was better to humour her. Kinch produced a notebook and pencil from his pocket, and gave them to her. "Write them down."

He barely glanced at the page when she handed it back. "Now, will you try to sleep?" he said gently.

"You'll wake me if you have news?" She looked up at him with a kind of timorous anxiety, and his vexation died.

"No, ma'am. It'll keep until you wake up." He didn't tell her how long he thought it would be before they heard anything; he just left her to find the sleep she so desperately needed.

It was quiet in the tunnel. Carter and LeBeau had gone up above; apart from Kinch, the only ones down here were Baker in the radio room, and Elise in the sleeping quarters. He came to a standstill midway between the two areas, then abruptly turned and headed for the emergency tunnel entrance. He went to the foot of the ladder leading to the tree stump in the woods, and stood there listening. No sound reached him from above.

For once, it was just too hard to go on being the sensible one. He would give them until lights-out, and then he was damn well going out himself to look for them.


	11. Chapter 11

In spite of the circumstances, Newkirk was having trouble staying awake. He leaned back in his chair, with his leg stretched out under the table to reduce the pain in his knee. His head ached, and his eyes felt as if they'd been sandpapered.

He gazed wearily at Hogan, who was still keeping watch at the door. It was over an hour since Carter had escorted Elise from the premises; the Gestapo hadn't returned, nor had the SS given up on their surveillance outside the premises. Bruno had disappeared into the cellar a few minutes earlier.

Newkirk had given a full report on the events that had brought him here. Hogan didn't ask any questions, just listened, and there was a long period of silence after the story was finished.

"You don't have to say it, Colonel," said Newkirk at last. "I really buggered this one up."

Hogan gave him a quizzical glance. "It's buggered, all right, but I'm not convinced you deserve the credit for it."

Newkirk pressed his fingers against the centre of his forehead, where the headache seemed to have settled. "I should have just brought her straight back to Stalag 13. She wouldn't give up the names, unless I brought her home."

"It surprised us that you didn't. But given who she is..."

"Wouldn't have mattered if she'd been Princess Elizabeth," Newkirk interrupted, almost irritably. He paused, then added quietly. "I thought I knew how to read people. Now I just...I don't trust myself, Colonel. I can't tell any more."

"Newkirk, you made one mistake. Okay, it was a big one, and you better not ever forget it. But don't let it get out of proportion. This assignment went wrong for reasons you had no control over. Next time, we'll make sure we know what we're getting into before we send anyone out."

"You sure there's going to be a next time, sir?" murmured Newkirk with a half-smile.

"I think we can swing it. Now that we've give Carter and LeBeau a good head start, we'd better make a move. Where's Bruno?"

The barman reappeared, clutching a dust-coated wine bottle in one hand. With his legs, long and thin in flannel underwear, visible below the hem of his apron, he looked even more ridiculous than usual, but his expression was grave.

"Chateau Maraison, eighteen sixty-five," he explained. "The boss has been saving it for the end of the war. I guess for us, that could be today, so..."

"Not yet, Bruno," said Hogan briskly. He was looking out at the two men still on duty in the street outside.

"You got an idea, Colonel?" Newkirk looked up, blinking rapidly.

"Not one of my better ones," admitted Hogan with a grimace. "It should work, but in means sacrificing Bruno's dignity."

Bruno gazed at him solemnly, then looked down at his own legs, and Newkirk laughed. "I think that pigeon's already flown, sir. Sorry, Bruno."

"Ah, well, I never had much, anyway," sighed the barman. "What are your instructions, Colonel?"

Hogan looked out into the street again. "There are two of them out there. We need to get them in here, then we can take them out." He glanced at Newkirk. _If you're up to it_, was the unspoken qualifier. Newkirk understood, and gave him a nod. He was up to it, all right. As if he had a choice.

"Bruno," the colonel went on, "go out there and tell those two what happened out here."

"You mean the true story?"

"Exactly. Except you weren't part of it; we overpowered you and locked you in the back room. You've just managed to break out of there. You're not sure what we're up to, but it seems to involve some explosives we've got stashed in the cellar, which is where we are at the moment. You can fill in the details however you like. Newkirk, behind the door. You take the first one in; I'll deal with the other one."

"You're right, sir," observed Newkirk. "Definitely not one of your better ones." He stood up, wincing as his leg gave him due warning, and hobbled to the door. "You noticed they have semi-automatics, then? Just thought I'd mention it."

"Duly noted, corporal," replied Hogan, as he slipped into the cloakroom alcove. There was a spark in his eye. He'd missed that English attitude.

Bruno glanced from one to the other, checking they were both ready. He took a deep breath, opened the door and flung himself into the street. "_Hilfe_!" he shrieked. "_Schnell_!"

Newkirk leaned back, keeping well out of the line of sight. He could just make out Bruno's voice, as he poured out a torrent of exclamations, half in execrable German and half in his own Alsace dialect. One of the Krauts interrupted him: "_Sprechen Sie langsamer_." Bruno complied, repeating his story more slowly. Newkirk still couldn't make out a word of it, but the SS men did. There was a lull in the conversation, then the light coming through the glass panel was dimmed by the approach of a large body. The door opened slowly; Newkirk pressed himself even closer to the wall, and held his breath. If the bastard turned his head to the right...

He didn't; he turned left, away from Newkirk, who counted down in heartbeats from five to zero, and then launched himself forward and flung an arm around the man's throat. As he threw his weight back, he was vaguely aware of a shooting pain in his knee. It was just enough to send him off balance, and the pair of them hit the wall, hard.

The second man swung round, bringing his weapon to bear on the struggle. Newkirk, with all the strength he had left in him, fought to keep his opponent between himself and the gun. The next moment, Hogan emerged from the cloakroom, grabbed a chair and swung it against the second man's upper back, sending him down for the count.

Newkirk wasn't doing so well. The impact with the wall had knocked the breath out of his body and shaken his grip on his opponent, who managed to drive an elbow into Newkirk's ribs before twisting free and turning on him. Before the man could take further action, a bottle crashed against the side of his head, smashing against the edge of his helmet. He went down, stunned and bleeding from the broken glass, and as he tried to get up, Newkirk proved that there are no gentlemen in a free fight, by kicking him in the face. He shouldn't have done that; it sent the pain in his leg into overdrive, and he staggered back against the wall, gasping.

Bruno, still clutching the neck of the shattered bottle of Chateau Maraison, eighteen sixty-five, stared at the unconscious soldier, then at Newkirk.

"Well, that does it," he muttered. "I'll have to leave the country after this."

"What, because you laid one of them out? It can't be the first time, Bruno," said Hogan.

"No, that's all in the day's work," replied Bruno impatiently. "But the boss'll skin me alive for breaking this bottle."

Hogan had gone to Newkirk's assistance. "What did he do to you?"

"Put his face where my foot was aimed," said Newkirk, with the ghost of a laugh. "Sorry, Colonel. I think I've done myself some damage."

"Can you walk?"

"Just about." He stood upright, and put some weight onto the injured limb. It was bearable, but he didn't refuse the support of Hogan's arm. "What now? Do we take their car?"

"Well, they won't be needing it," observed Hogan. "Bruno, you'd better come back with us."

"No, I don't think so. Not yet." Bruno was quietly resolute. "You can drop me off; I'll tell you where. There's some business for me to attend to first."

"Blackbird?"

"Yes, that has to be dealt with. It's our affair, Colonel," he added, before Hogan could say anything."

There wasn't time to argue the point. Hogan nodded in acquiescence. "Okay, let's go before these two decide to rejoin the party."

The afternoon was drawing on, and the sunlight, turned grey and sickly by the lingering haze, was beginning to fade. Hogan checked quickly; nobody was in the street. Still supporting Newkirk, who was quietly exercising his vocabulary with every step, he left the _Weinkeller_ and headed for the SS car. He put Newkirk in the back, and sent Bruno to the front passenger seat.

Hochstetter's men had been careless. The keys were still in the ignition. So much the better; hotwiring would have taken extra time. Hogan started the car, and got them away from there.

He played it safe, avoiding any possible traffic snarls; it didn't take long to get out of the city, and into the warehouse district Bruno directed him to.

"We'll let you know when the problem has been resolved," he said, gazing at Hogan with those ridiculously magnified eyes. "I don't know how, but we will be in touch."

Hogan nodded towards the trunk of the car. "Take our radio with you, and send us a message when it's safe. Code word - " He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and the corner of his mouth turned up. "Maraison."

"Oh, very funny," muttered Bruno.

Newkirk was drowsing in the back seat, and scarcely registered that they had stopped, but the renewed motion of the car roused him with a start. He looked around, blinking in confusion.

"Thought I was somewhere else for a moment," he murmured indistinctly. "Are we nearly there?"

"Not far. You'll have some walking to do, and I don't know yet how I'm going to get you down the emergency tunnel ladder."

"Oh, I'll manage it. Don't you worry, sir."

He fell silent, gazing out at the darkness.

"How bad was it?" Hogan asked, after a couple of minutes.

"Never been so scared in all my life," replied Newkirk without hesitation. "We were right out in the open, had to shelter in an alleyway. I really thought that was it. Still, it turned out alright, didn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it did." Hogan didn't bother pointing out the outstanding matters: they still didn't know if the others had made it back to Stalag 13; there would be some serious fence-mending to do with the Underground at Hammelburg; and somehow Elise had to be got out of Germany. There would be plenty of time to worry about all of that.

He got as close to camp as he dared, before driving the car off the road into the woods. Tomorrow they'd have to see about moving it further away, but for now he just wanted to get Newkirk safely below ground.

He got out, and opened the rear door. "Last leg." Then, as Newkirk chuckled, he added, "Sorry - that was tactless."

Newkirk eased himself out of the car. "I don't think it's too bad," he murmured, testing his weight. "If it was serious, I wouldn't be able to stand up." Then he looked around. "You're chancing it a bit, Colonel. Patrols come this far out sometimes."

"Not when it's this cold, Newkirk. And I'd like to get indoors before it gets any colder."

The final part of the journey took longer than expected; Newkirk was finding it particularly hard going, although he resisted all of the colonel's attempts to help him over the uneven ground.

"Okay, Newkirk, just the ladder to go," whispered Hogan, when they finally reached the tree stump that stood over the tunnel entrance. "Are you sure you can manage?"

"I'll get there if I have to hold on with my teeth," replied Newkirk, faint but determined.

"You'd better. I didn't chase all round Hammelburg after you just so you could fall and break your neck now."

The spotlight from the nearest guard tower swept across, and they dropped to the ground, and waited. Two minutes, and it passed over a second time. As soon as it was dark again, Hogan raised the top of the stump, and helped Newkirk scramble inside. Then he crouched again, to wait for the next pass.

The descent really tried Newkirk's endurance, and not just because of the leg. Weary muscles and overall fatigue were almost ready to take over from the obstinacy which had carried him this far. Besides, he'd forgotten, as he always did, just how long this ladder was. Each rung required a renewal of effort, and soon he lost count, so when he felt someone grab his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"It's okay, Peter. I've got you." It was Kinch. Newkirk's hand released its grip on the ladder, reached out blindly, and found his friend's shoulder.

"Just a couple more steps," Kinch said, getting an arm around Newkirk and supporting him. His feet found the floor, and he finally let go of the ladder and leaned against his mate.

"You'd better sit down." Kinch drew him away from the foot of the ladder.

"No. If I sit down, I'll never get up again." Newkirk's voice was little more than a whisper.

A few seconds more, and Hogan joined them. A smile broke across Kinch's face. "You made it," he said. "Man, we were worried."

"Did Carter and LeBeau get back?" Hogan demanded sharply.

"All safe, Colonel. The lady's asleep; not sure about the other two."

_All safe_. Newkirk's mind grasped at the words The smell of the tunnel surrounded him; dust, damp earth and the fumes of the lamps along the walls. It was oddly comforting. He closed his eyes, and his head drooped against Kinch's chest, but he roused himself when Hogan spoke: "Don't pass out on us now, Newkirk."

"Not even close to it, sir. Although I could just about do with an early night."

"Mrs Hochstetter's got the sleeping quarters," said Kinch, "but we could make up the cot in the radio room."

"I'll sleep in my own bunk, if it's all the same." Newkirk sounded half asleep already.

Over his head, Hogan's eyes met Kinch's. "If you insist, Newkirk," said the colonel. "Let's get you out of those clothes. Kinch, go tell Abrahams he doesn't have to keep wearing the nightshirt." Kinch grinned, and headed off to the barracks.

"What was that about Abrahams?" murmured Newkirk.

"He was your stand-in this morning." It seemed a lifetime ago. Hogan got Newkirk's arm around his shoulder, and supported him every step of the way along to the wardrobe room. Lowering Newkirk onto a bench beside the wall, the colonel began taking off his boots.

Kinch came back, bringing the nightshirt with him. "They're pretty excited up there," he reported. "You sure you can stand it, Newkirk?"

"After the earful I got from LeBeau earlier, there's nothing more can hurt me, Kinch," replied Newkirk.

"Don't be so sure of that." Hogan dropped the first boot on the floor, and started on the second.

Both men gazed at him; Newkirk, with a puzzled, slightly dazed expression, and Kinch suddenly apprehensive. "What's on your mind, Colonel?" he asked.

"That Gestapo captain, Rohmer, had a pretty neat description of Mrs Hochstetter's escort," said Hogan grimly. "Tall, dark hair, foreign accent. That means they have a witness - probably Blackbird. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think so."

He stood up. "You'd better get a good night's sleep, Newkirk. Because if Hochstetter doesn't turn up here in the next day or so looking for someone fitting that description, I'll eat in the mess hall for a month."


	12. Chapter 12

"Good morning, gentlemen."

The greeting came from Sergeant Schultz as he trundled into Barracks 2, where the inmates had been taking shameless advantage of their state of quarantine. Roll-call had come and gone in the compound outside, but here some of the men were still in bed, and those who were up had been keeping the noise down out of consideration for anyone who was still sleeping.

LeBeau made an indignant hushing noise. "You want to wake everyone up, Schultz? After they were so sick yesterday? You Germans have no consideration."

"Sorry, LeBeau, but you have a visitor." Schultz made no attempt to lower his voice. "The medical officer from Stalag 4 has just reported to the Kommandant's office."

"Schultz, will you turn it up? Some of us are trying to sleep." Newkirk raised his head, and directed a red-eyed glare at the sergeant of the guard.

"Did you say the doctor's here, Schultz?" Colonel Hogan turned away from the stove, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Better late than never. I don't think we've got a patient left for him."

"Newkirk doesn't look so good," observed Schultz, squinting at the Englishman.

"He's always like that in the mornings," replied LeBeau. "Coffee, _mon pote_?"

Newkirk nodded sleepily, and sat up. "_Merci, mon ami_," he replied, his distinctly non-Gallic accent even more pronounced than usual.

"If they are all well, then why are they still in bed?" Schultz turned a look of anxious enquiry on Hogan.

"Practising for the next epidemic, Schultz. We haven't had our yearly round of dysentery yet," explained Hogan.

"Please, Colonel Hogan, tell me there is no monkey business going on." The sergeant's voice had begun its usual ascent of register, from bass through baritone to strangulated tenor.

"Oh, come on, Schultz. What could we possibly get up to in quarantine?"

The expression on Schultz's face was eloquent in reply, but he held his tongue, as the door behind him swung open and Kommandant Klink stalked in, followed by a man in the uniform of a _Luftwaffe_ medical officer.

"_Achtung_!" bellowed Schultz.

Klink stopped just inside the door, casting a look around the barracks. "I'm glad to see you are all so much better," he remarked, before his gaze finally alighted on Newkirk. He suppressed a shudder. "Most of you, anyway."

The prisoners ignored him. He scowled, and cleared his throat. "Doctor Huber from Stalag 4 has kindly made time in his busy schedule to come and assess the condition of your men, Hogan."

Hogan, with a sideways look at the man standing behind the Kommandant, shrugged. "Yesterday would have been better. The worst is already over. I don't think anyone's even got so much as a sniffle today."

"That means nothing," observed the medical officer, in a cool disinterested tone. He was studying Newkirk, who returned the look with one of mild hostility. "Infectious diseases can strike a second or third time. Often after an incubation period, during which the victim appears perfectly healthy. That is the time when the pathogens are most virulent. And contagious. Very contagious."

Klink blanched, and took a step back towards the door, almost colliding with the doctor, who sidestepped neatly out of his way. "I...have some urgent paperwork waiting for me in my office," he stammered. "If you will excuse me, Doctor..." With less of the iron eagle, and more of the startled rabbit about his gait, he removed himself from the barracks. Schultz wavered, a vague sense of duty battling his natural inclination to get out of there. Natural inclination won.

The doctor removed his gloves. "Newkirk, you look like crap," he said frankly.

Newkirk's eyes narrowed into a glower. "Charming. That's your professional opinion, is it, Olsen? Remind me to write a letter of complaint to the medical association."

"Wait till you see his bill," said Hogan. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Much better, Colonel." Newkirk swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, wincing a little as his stiffening muscles protested. "Leg still hurts a bit." He glanced towards the tunnel entrance.

Hogan interpreted the look correctly. "As far as I know, she's still sleeping."

"She did well yesterday, you know. For an amateur, that is," remarked Newkirk, preparing for a cautious descent from his upper bunk. Hogan and Olsen went to his aid, to his visible annoyance.

"We should get that leg looked at," observed Hogan, as Newkirk dropped onto a chair, and leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

"Just don't let him anywhere near it." Newkirk nodded in Olsen's direction. "I know a quack when I see one."

Addison held up a hand. "I know a bit about knee injuries. I used to coach a rugby team in Swansea," Then, at the look he got from those around him: "What? Can't a guy from Idaho go live in Wales?"

"Sure he can, Addison." Hogan waved him forward. "But a rugby team? That's just wrong."

Addison grinned. "Don't knock it. They were some of the best-built women I've ever seen. Better legs than yours, too, Newkirk."

"Thank you very much. I'd have been better off with Olsen," complained Newkirk, but nobody paid any attention.

Hogan turned his head as the tunnel bunk went up and Carter appeared from below. "Colonel, Kinch said to tell you, he just heard from Bruno. Just one word..uh..." His voice died away, and a perplexed furrow creased his brow.

"Maraison," said Hogan.

"Yeah, that was it."

Hogan glanced at Newkirk. The agreed code word; Blackbird had been neutralised. If they were right, and he had been the witness who had told the Gestapo about Elise's companion, then things were looking up. The Gestapo might have a general idea of the suspect's appearance, but without an eyewitness, they would have little chance of picking Newkirk out from the entire population of Stalag 13.

"I'll be right down," Hogan said, and Carter vanished again.

Addison finished his examination, which had been rigorous enough to draw a fierce protest from his victim, and a scowl from LeBeau who was hovering close by. "Nothing serious. If you'd been able to rest it when it first happened, it wouldn't be anything to worry about. Just keep off it for a couple of days, till the inflammation goes down."

"Make that an order, Newkirk," Hogan added. "For the next few days, consider yourself on sick call. Let's not take any chances. You can't be spared long-term."

Newkirk gave him a startled look. Then, as Hogan responded with a slight nod, he flushed, and turned away to hide the smile that broke across his face. LeBeau, his eyes dancing, gave him a nudge. The probation period was over; he was back in the team.

Hogan turned to Olsen. "I think the quarantine's run its course," he remarked. "Give it ten minutes, so it looks as if you've actually examined someone, then go report to Klink that what we have is several cases of food poisoning."

"Not from my cooking." LeBeau was up in arms at once.

"Heaven forbid, LeBeau. No, some of the guys ate in the mess hall the night before last," said Hogan. "They were asking for trouble, it serves them right. We're lucky there were any survivors."

He left Olsen to work out the details for himself, and headed down to the radio room, where Kinch, with Carter as audience, was already transmitting Elise's information to London. Carter had a sleepy, contented look about him. As far as he was concerned, all was well this morning.

Kinch finished the message and looked up. "All received, Colonel. They've asked me to stand by."

"Before they sign off, ask them about Stefan Hochstetter," said Hogan. "Then get in touch with Bruno. We need to get him out, as well as the lady. Is she awake yet?"

"She was still asleep twenty minutes ago," said Carter.

Hogan went along to the sleeping quarters, where he found Elise had woken since Carter had last checked. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and looked up as he came in. The long sleep had done her good; she seemed to have recovered her self-possession, and showed no sign of the ill temper which had been so evident at the _Weinkeller_ the night before. She still looked tired, but even so, she was a pretty girl. It was surprising that Newkirk had kept his head; maybe he'd grown up a bit since that business with the barmaid.

"I hope you slept well," said Hogan.

She gave him a little smile. "Very well. Your sergeant told me the accommodation was basic, but it's surprisingly comfortable. I'm afraid I wasn't very gracious about it last night." She hesitated, then added, "Your man in town - Corporal...?"

"Newkirk."

"Is he...?"

"He's fine. A little sore, but he'll get over it in a few days."

Elise folded her hands. "He was very good, but he wasn't at all polite. Doesn't he like women?"

It took every scrap of Hogan's self-control to keep from laughing at that. "He's had some unfortunate experiences recently; it soured him a bit," he explained. "Finding out about your family connections probably didn't help."

She looked away. "I won't apologise for it."

"I won't ask you to. But it was a complication he could have done without."

Elise acknowledged the remark with another tiny smile, but didn't answer him.

"There's something I'd like to clarify," Hogan went on. "I got the story from Newkirk last night, but he couldn't tell me everything." She still didn't speak, so he continued. "When he arrived at the hotel, he saw you talking to Hochstetter. What was that conversation about?"

She went scarlet. "Wolfgang had been keeping an eye on me since I arrived in Hammelburg. That night he arrived just as I was coming down to the restaurant. He didn't exactly say why, but he asked if I was meeting anyone, and he seemed very put out when I wouldn't tell him. Something about his mood made me nervous, so I acted as if I thought he was accusing me of...well, of having an affair. I suggested he speak to Stefan about it, and he said it was too late for that. I didn't understand it at the time, but he probably meant..."

After a pause, she changed the subject. "What happens to me now?"

"For the next few days, you stay down here. It may not be five-star, but it's about the safest place in Germany for you right now. When the heat dies down, we'll get you onto our usual escape route. You won't be going alone. Bruno, from the _Weinkeller_, will make the trip with you."

She lowered her gaze to the floor, then looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Stefan?"

"We're trying to find out, but don't get your hopes up," said Hogan. He waited for a moment, but she didn't answer him.

"Colonel?" Carter was in the entrance. "Kinch has some more news from London." He glanced at Elise, clearly reluctant to give any further details in front of her.

"Okay, Carter, I'm coming." Hogan gave Elise what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "If you need anything, just ask."

Once in the tunnel, and out of her sight, he sent an enquiring look at Carter. "Well?"

"It's her husband," said Carter in a low voice. He didn't need to say any more.

Hogan closed his eyes for a moment. Sometimes he hated this job. "Don't tell her yet. Get her something to eat, and see that she eats it. I'll tell her myself, later."

He went back to the radio room, where Kinch was waiting. "Not good news, Colonel," he said. "London confirmed that Captain Stefan Hochstetter, of the _Inland-Sicherheitsdienst_, has been passing information for some time - reliable information. They've just received word he was arrested in Berlin two days ago, and shot while trying to escape. He didn't survive." He fell silent at the look on Hogan's face.

"Anything else?" asked Hogan after a long pause.

"No further information on that. They've rescheduled the air attack on the communications base at Weizenfeld for tonight, and they'll be targeting the relay towers between there and Hammelburg as well. Early evening."

"Pass that on to Bruno. He'll put the word around the Underground."

Kinch frowned. "With Mistral out of action, and Blackbird closed down, it's not going to be easy for him."

"He'll think of something. He always does," said Hogan. "Damn, we're going to miss him."

Kinch laughed quietly, and went back to work, and Hogan returned to the barracks. Olsen had already gone to report to Klink, and the men were putting the barracks into order in case the Kommandant decided a snap inspection was in order. Newkirk, with an anxious LeBeau in attendance, was getting into uniform. Both of them looked at Hogan as he came out of the tunnel.

"Carter told us," said Newkirk. "Does she know yet, Colonel?"

"Not yet. I'll tell her later."

"Perhaps it might come better from me, sir." Newkirk's voice was unusually serious. "She's my responsibility, after all."

Hogan considered the suggestion, then shook his head. "Not any more. Thanks for the offer, but I'll deal with it. It's not up for discussion," he added, as Newkirk seemed ready to argue the point. "You're off duty today, Newkirk."

He waited till mid-morning before he went back down to speak to Elise; and he found he didn't have to say a word. As he entered the sleeping quarters, she looked up. "Colonel," she began, then her eyes widened as she read the look on his face. She continued to stare at him for some moments, then looked away; tried to speak, but couldn't, and closed her lips tightly together.

"I'm sorry," said Hogan.

"I know. I expected it," she replied. It took an effort, and her voice trembled. "Corporal Newkirk warned me. How did it happen?"

"Shot while trying to escape. I know it's not much comfort, but it would have been quick." He didn't go into the other side of it; a quick death meant no chance of interrogation, no chance they could have broken him. If she realised it herself, she'd understand. If not, then no need to give her the extra grief.

He couldn't tell whether she had thought of it or not. She had taken the news surprisingly well; her distress, though obvious, was controlled. That might change, once the news sank in.

She became aware of his silence, and looked up again. "Thank you, Colonel Hogan," she said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." He was watching her closely.

"Please." She pressed her tightly clasped hands against her lips for a moment. "I don't want to cry in front of strangers," she added; then, with a pathetic attempt at a smile, "It makes me look hideous. Stefan wouldn't want..." Her voice failed, and she turned her face away, breathing deeply in an effort to suppress her feelings.

It was less than twenty-four hours since she had met him; not yet two days since she'd first set eyes on Newkirk. She must be feeling very isolated right now, alone among a whole crowd of men with whom she was completely unacquainted. Hogan could understand her reserve. "Okay. If you need anything, you know where we are." He lingered for a moment, then left her to deal with her grief in her own way.

The day passed quietly. Hogan had anticipated a visit from the Gestapo; Hochstetter was never slow to link any suspicious activities to Stalag 13. But the hours wore on, and the major put in no appearance.

"Well, it's not as if we look forward to seeing him, is it?" observed Newkirk.

"No, but I don't like it. He's not doing what I expect him to," Hogan replied, a trifle petulantly.

"Probably just messing with us." Newkirk, reclining on Carter's bunk, suppressed a yawn. For once, he was taking no part in the poker game which engaged several of the others, while they waited for lights-out.

"Yeah, maybe." Hogan glanced up, his attention diverted. Then he glanced at his watch. "Right on time. And right on target."

The explosion, not too close but near enough to be audible, had caught everyone's attention. "That the raid on Weizenfeld? Didn't think we'd hear it from here," said Carter.

"We wouldn't. They're taking out the relay towers near Hammelburg as well."

Carter giggled. "Just as long as they don't miss this time."

Nobody paid any attention Newkirk's uncharacteristic silence, but Hogan, to all appearances watching the game, kept an eye on him. Newkirk seemed to grow more tense, as the noise of the bombings came closer. It was unusual; like most of the prisoners, he was so accustomed to the air raids which occasionally disturbed their nights as to be scarcely aware of them. Not tonight. As the noise continued, Newkirk got restless. He glanced at the group of men around the table, making sure they were fully occupied, then got up quietly and headed for the tunnel entrance.

He looked over his shoulder again before tackling the ladder, and caught the colonel's eye; went red, and gave a little shrug of embarrassment. Then, with due care for his painful knee, he descended into the tunnel.

"He's not getting scared, is he?" Carter gazed after him, with a troubled expression. "Must have been real bad in Hammelburg."

"_Jamais_," muttered LeBeau, but he looked worried, too.

Hogan wasn't happy with it, either. If the air raid two nights ago was going to have any lasting effect on Newkirk, his return to the team was likely to be short-lived. They couldn't use a man who might react badly to explosions.

The colonel waited a few minutes, and then went below. As he reached the radio room, Kinch looked up. He didn't speak, just nodded in the direction of the sleeping quarters. Enlightenment dawned; suddenly Hogan understood. He went along the tunnel, and stopped when he heard Newkirk's voice.

"Listen, princess. I know you're frightened, but just listen for a moment. It's miles away. You're safe here, as safe as you could be. They'd never bomb a prisoner of war camp, not even by accident. So nothing's going to happen. Just keep your chin up, sweetheart, and it'll all be over in a little while...okay, you have a little weep, if it makes you feel better. I'll be right here, as long as you want me."

The colonel moved a few steps forward, into the doorway of the sleeping quarters. As he had guessed, Newkirk was cradling the girl in his arms; the shattering experiences of the last two days had finally caught up with her. He held her close, with a tenderness nobody had suspected he was capable of, and continued to talk in a low, gentle voice.

Hogan knew he had no reason to worry. Newkirk would be okay.


	13. Chapter 13

Hochstetter finally put in an appearance shortly before noon on the following day.

"He's late," observed Colonel Hogan, leaning against the barracks wall and watching the arrival of the staff car with a disapproving expression.

LeBeau made a scornful noise. "The later, the better," he muttered, and drew his finger across his throat. Enough time had passed for him to come to the conclusion that most of the blame for Newkirk's recent adventure rested squarely on Hochstetter's shoulders, and he was consequently in a dangerously hostile mood.

"That's not nice, LeBeau. Let's not get carried away." Hogan nodded towards the volleyball game in progress. "Go and take Carter's place. I'd rather he kept out of sight."

Carter seemed a little put out at the substitution; he was playing well today. "What's up, Colonel?" he asked.

"Just being careful, Carter." It wasn't likely Hochstetter would connect the gawky American with Colonel Tauber. He had never once shown any sign of recognising Carter, even though he must by now have an extensive file on him. Still, Hogan was taking no chances. "Go inside and let Newkirk know we've got visitors. And then stay out of sight."

Although the quarantine had been brought to a close, the food poisoning story was a convenient excuse for keeping Newkirk off his feet for a couple of days. He was making use of the time to get Elise's travelling outfit ready, so she could leave at a moment's notice.

The car swept through the gate, and came to a stop in front of the Kommandantur. Hochstetter was accompanied only by a party of SS guards; the captain in charge of the case was not with him. The major stood a moment by the car, staring across the compound at Hogan. There was an intensity about the major's gaze, a degree of resentful hostility several notches higher than usual.

Kommandant Klink scurried out of his office. "Major Hochstetter, what a surprise." He didn't look as if it was a surprise he welcomed. "I had no idea..."

"Of course you didn't, Klink." Hochstetter didn't even turn his head to reply

"Of course I didn't," agreed the Kommandant, with a slightly hysterical giggle. "Why should I? You don't have to account for your movements to me, Major. Would you care to step into my office?"

"Later," Hochstetter growled, and strode across the yard towards Barracks 2. He made no effort to walk around the volleyball game, and the men stepped back as he passed; all except LeBeau, who stood his ground with a lift of the chin and the light of battle showing in his eyes.

"Get out of the way," said Hochstetter.

LeBeau shook his head. "I was here first," he replied.

"Get out of the way," repeated the major coldly, "or I will have you shot."

LeBeau had no intention of backing down, and the standoff might have ended badly for him, if Hogan had not stepped forward to defuse the situation. "You know, Major, it's never a good idea to cross the volleyball court during a game," he remarked. "That's how accidents happen."

Hochstetter turned on him, but whatever he might have been about to say was forgotten, as the ball went flying past his ear. He spun around, but the men behind him were all looking innocent.

"Told you so," said Hogan. He had taken the opportunity, while Hochstetter's back was turned, to send LeBeau a glare which brought the Frenchman to his senses. LeBeau went scarlet, and scampered off to retrieve the ball.

With a visible effort, Hochstetter suppressed his fury. "Spare me a minute of your time, Hogan," he said. His voice sounded as if he'd just choked on a lemon.

"Well, it's my busy day, Major. The escape committee are having their annual fundraiser. But you know me - anything to oblige. Carry on, men."

"In private," Hochstetter added. "Shall we go into the barracks?"

With Newkirk and Carter in there, not to speak of Elise, the barracks was the last place Hogan wanted him to go, but he knew Hochstetter. Any direct attempt to divert him would arouse immediate suspicion. It required a bit of strategy; a double layer of deception.

"If you insist, Major," said Hogan, suppressing the beginnings of a smirk. He glanced at LeBeau, who had just returned with the volleyball, and quirked his eyebrows, with a tiny nod towards the barracks.

The ploy worked; Hochstetter turned a searching gaze on LeBeau, who immediately adopted an angelic expression which in a court of law would have got him sent down for life. The major hesitated, glanced over his shoulder towards the four SS men still waiting by the car, then gave in to the voice of distrust within his own mind. "No. We will talk out here. As long as we can't be overheard."

"Scout's honour," replied Hogan. "Back to the game, LeBeau. They're waiting for you."

He led Hochstetter towards the end of the barracks. "What's on your mind, Major?"

Hochstetter regarded him with narrowed eyes and a dark, brooding scowl. "Hogan, let's not play games. You may have covered it up very cleverly the last time I was here, but we both know there are certain activities going on in this camp."

"Well, of course there are," replied Hogan, in the tone of voice he usually reserved for humouring lunatics. "There's a basket-weaving class this afternoon, for a start."

Hochstetter shook his head slowly. "I didn't expect you to admit it, Hogan. But sooner or later, you or one of your men will make a mistake. One of them did, not so long ago, didn't he? The English corporal - what was his name again?"

Hogan sighed patiently. Not for one moment would he allow Hochstetter to think that shot had hit the target. "Major, there are a lot of Englishmen here. Could you be more specific?"

"You know which one I mean," replied Hochstetter.

There was silence between them for a short time, then Hochstetter said abruptly, "A person of interest to the Gestapo disappeared from the Hotel Alte Residenz in Hammelburg two nights ago. A young woman. I'm very anxious to find her."

_I bet you are,_ thought Hogan. He didn't say a word, just gazed at Hochstetter with an interested, slightly vacuous smile.

Seeing he didn't intend to reply, Hochstetter went on. "She was seen leaving the hotel with a _Luftwaffe_ captain, shortly after midnight. I'm also very interested in that man. Can you guess why, Colonel Hogan?"

"You're looking for a date for the annual Gestapo dinner dance?" hazarded Hogan.

Hochstetter issued a contemptuous snort. "No, Hogan. I'm interested because our information suggests the man was not a native German speaker. Now, where do you suppose we might start looking for him?"

In the back of Hogan's mind, a discordant note had sounded. Something was amiss with what Hochstetter had just told him; he wasn't yet certain what, but some detail there didn't fit the picture as he understood it. He couldn't stop to analyse it now, but he was going to have to go through the story with Newkirk again, and see if anything had been left out.

For now, he answered Hochstetter's question: "Have you tried Russia? There's a lot of foreign accents there, I'm told."

"Always with the jokes, Hogan," growled Hochstetter. "One day soon you will find yourself in a situation that isn't so funny. It will save you and your men a lot of trouble if you just tell me where she is."

"Major, you know there's nothing I'd like better than to help you out," said Hogan, "but how should I know? I haven't been outside camp for weeks, and they don't let girls in. Which is a shame, when you think about it."

"Very well, Hogan. Have it your way." Hochstetter turned and gestured to his men who were still waiting by the car. The volleyball game broke up in confusion as they briskly obeyed his summons. Klink, who had been loitering anxiously, followed them at an undignified scuttle, with Schultz plodding dutifully two steps behind.

"Have the prisoners line up, and check the barracks. Just Barracks 2," ordered Hochstetter. "It's always your barracks, Hogan," he added, with a significant waggle of his head.

Hogan knew an appeal to Klink would have no chance of success, but he tried anyway. "Kommandant, tell the major he can't do that. The men are entitled to their recreation period, and the game's not finished yet."

Klink looked at him reproachfully, then turned to the major. "Hogan is right, Major Hochstetter," he began, in the nervous whine which he always developed whenever the Gestapo descended on Stalag 13. "In any case, questioning of the prisoners is...I am not interested, Hogan." Hochstetter had lifted his head, with the threatening sneer which invariably sent Klink's bowels into free fall. "Do as Major Hochstetter says, or there will be consequences."

There were likely to be consequences anyway, but the Krauts were already showing signs of being quite prepared to start shooting. It was clearly an occasion for giving way, though not graciously. "Okay," said Hogan, "but under protest."

Two of Hochstetter's men had gone into the barracks. They returned with Newkirk and Carter, and pushed them into line. Carter, his face a mask of perplexed anxiety, stepped back into his usual place beside Kinch, and Hogan took up his position next to Newkirk.

"Where's our guest?" he murmured, not taking his eyes off Hochstetter.

"Safe down below," replied Newkirk in the same low tone.

As soon as the prisoners were assembled, Hochstetter turned and beckoned to one of his men. "Take your time, Lehmann," he said. The man nodded, and went to the far end of the line, inspecting each of the men in turn.

From directly to his left, Hogan heard a muttered exclamation. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone was profoundly unparliamentary. He shot a sideways look at Newkirk.

"Something you didn't tell me?" murmured Hogan.

"Something I forgot about. When we left the hotel, there was a man on guard in the kitchen..."

Newkirk broke off, as Hochstetter became aware of the exchange and glanced in his direction. But the rest of the story was clear, and Hogan could have sworn aloud at what it meant. The detail which had jarred with him a couple of minutes earlier, when Hochstetter had spoken of a _Luftwaffe_ captain, now made sense. Blackbird had sold them out, all right; but he'd never seen Newkirk with Elise, or wearing the identifiable uniform top-coat. The witness who had provided that information was the SS private who was now carefully scrutinising Abrahams, and who would reach Newkirk in a few seconds.

There was no time to come up with anything. The man bypassed the diminutive LeBeau with no more than a fleeting look, and stopped in front of Newkirk, who adopted a blank expression which would have done Carter credit. The examination seemed to last for an eternity, before Lehmann passed on to give Hogan the same level of attention. Then he moved on to the second row. Kinch didn't even rate a glance, and Carter only a cursory once-over, but there was another long pause in front of Beauchamp.

_He's not certain_, thought Hogan suddenly. Hochstetter was unlikely to give up if his witness failed him, but if he couldn't definitely pin it on Newkirk, that was something, at least.

Lehmann got to the end of the line, and with an embarrassed air reported back to Hochstetter. They were just too far away for Hogan to make out what they were saying, but he watched them closely. Lehmann spoke quickly and nervously, glancing along the row of prisoners once or twice. Hochstetter's expression lowered, and he uttered a few words, and jerked his head slightly; whether at Hogan or Newkirk was impossible to say. Either way it didn't matter, as the witness gave a tiny shrug, and shook his head.

Hochstetter scowled as he meditated on the outcome, then came to a decision. He cast a look along the rows of prisoners, then pointed towards Newkirk. "Step forward," he said.

With an apprehensive glance at Hogan, Newkirk obeyed. But Hochstetter hadn't finished. The finger moved towards Abrahams, and then to Beauchamp. "Those two men as well. And you, Hogan."

_One hundred and eighty centimetres, dark hair, foreign accent. _Hochstetter had picked out the four inmates of Barracks 2 who most closely matched the description he had been given.

He might not have the clear identification he was hoping for, but the major had enough information to start making a few uncomfortably close guesses.


	14. Chapter 14

Hochstetter gazed speculatively at the four men he had picked out of the assembly. He turned back to the SS private, and spoke a few words in an undertone. Then he looked directly at the colonel. "Do you speak German, Hogan?" he asked, in a tone of mild curiosity.

Hogan favoured him with a wounded look. "Do I speak...? Of course I do. _Ein Bier, bitte_," he added, with an air of pride, but without a single correct vowel. Hochstetter turned an inquiring look towards the witness Lehmann, who shook his head.

The major's contemptuous gaze moved to Newkirk, who wrinkled his brow apologetically. "Only what I learned from listening to _ITMA_, sir. 'This is Funf speaking.' That sort of thing, you know. Never had much of an ear for languages." His accent had broadened out to an barely comprehensible within-the-bells Cockney, and Lehmann blinked, and looked apologetically at his superior.

Abrahams, next to fall under Hochstetter's scrutiny, gave him a nervous smile. "Sauerkraut? Donner and Blitzen? That's all I got." And Beauchamp shrugged, before uttering a phrase so coarse that both prisoners and guards were struck dumb with astonished admiration, and Hochstetter became almost incandescent with fury.

"What?" protested Beauchamp. "Schultz says it all the time."

Everyone turned to look at Schultz, whose expression of outrage was a thing of beauty. "Major Hochstetter - _Herr Kommandant _- I have never...I would never...I don't even know that word."

"Well, there you go, Schultz," said Hogan. "You learned something new today."

Hochstetter spun back towards Lehmann. "Well?"

"_Bitte, Herr Major_," stammered the unfortunate man, "none of them sound quite..." He broke off, as Hochstetter uttered a low, menacing growl.

"You know, Major, you'll never sing treble again if you keep doing that," observed Hogan helpfully. "It's really hard on the voice."

The major fulminated briefly, then turned a scorching glare on Klink. "I will require the use of your office, Kommandant, while I question these men. Have these three placed in solitary confinement until I am ready for them."

Every so often, Klink made an attempt to stand up to Hochstetter. "May I remind you, Major Hochstetter, that as the Kommandant of this prison camp, I..." His voice broke off in an undignified squeak; hardly surprising, given the glare the major turned on him. The Iron Eagle collapsed like an overcooked noodle, and nodded feebly. "My office is your office, Major Hochstetter. Schultz, take these men to the cooler."

"And keep them separated," added Hochstetter. He was playing things with a very high hand, even more than usual. "The other prisoners will be confined to barracks. Colonel Hogan, if you please." He gestured towards the Kommandant's office.

There was no way to avoid it. Hogan sent a look towards Kinch, flickering his eyes in the direction of the barracks, and hoped Kinch would take the hint and warm up the coffee pot. He didn't dare risk any more obvious signal. Then he turned and strolled across the compound in Hochstetter's wake, followed by two of the SS; the other two had accompanied the men sent to the cooler.

"You two, stay here," Hochstetter said to his men, as they reached the steps of the Kommandantur. "Nobody is allowed inside." Entering the building, he turned his attention to Fräulein Hilda, Klink's secretary, and uttered one word: "Out."

Hilda's feet scarcely touched the floor as she fled the building.

Hogan, following the Gestapo major into Klink's office, took a seat in front of the desk, looking as if he was perfectly happy to spend the whole day in Hochstetter's company if he had to. The major went to the window, and gazed out over the compound. All the prisoners were now out of sight, and only the guards were to be seen, patrolling with a higher than usual degree of diligence.

Hochstetter was giving nothing away. Hogan, glancing surreptitiously at him, wondered what the man was thinking. If he had been able to read minds at that moment, the result would have rendered him, for once in his life, speechless.

_What if I just told him the truth...?_

Major Hochstetter almost laughed out loud as the thought came into his head. Tell that man anything...? It would be more than his life was worth. Hogan was too intelligent, too resourceful, too devious. Not a man to be trusted.

Lehmann had let him down. If only he could have picked out the man he had seen with Stefan's wife at the hotel, everything would be so much easier. Hochstetter could have concentrated on getting the result he wanted, without any risk of interference from that outsider, Captain Rohmer. Instead, there were going to be difficulties.

He turned abruptly from the window. "Colonel Hogan, where were you the day before yesterday?"

Hogan stared at him, with a perfectly formed expression of mild bewilderment. "Where was I? Where I always am, Major. Right here in camp."

A skeptical grunt was the only reply. Hogan immediately went on the defensive. "You can ask the Kommandant, if you don't believe me. Or Sergeant Schultz."

Hochstetter regarded him in silence for a moment, then strode to the door. "Klink!" he shrieked, at a volume that caused rabbits in the nearby woods to race for their burrows. The Kommandant looked as if he'd considered making for a bolt-hole, too, as he responded to the summons.

"Can you confirm Hogan was here at Stalag 13 on Saturday?" demanded Hochstetter.

Klink gaped at him. "Of course. He was in his barracks all day, in quarantine. Some of the prisoners were sick, and..."

"I'm not interested in trivia, Klink," Hochstetter interrupted. "Did you actually speak to him?"

"I certainly did, Major Hochstetter," replied Klink, attempting to remount his dignity. "Whenever something out of the ordinary happens here, I make sure I get to the..."

"Klink, shut up and listen to me. Did you also speak to the three men who are now in the cooler?"

The Kommandant shoulders slumped a little, and he drew his head down. "Not exactly."

"That's all I need from you. Get out."

As the door closed behind Klink, Hochstetter turned back to his adversary. He hadn't really believed Hogan was the man he was looking for. That wasn't the way the American operated. But one of his men - one of those three in the cooler - might well have been Elise's companion.

The English corporal was the key to this. Maybe he was the man in question, maybe not. But he was part of Hogan's operation, and an important part; Hochstetter had gathered enough intelligence to be sure of that. One way or another, he was certain to know all there was to know about the matter. And Hochstetter had the means to put some pressure on that one, at least. He wouldn't even have to get his hands dirty, which was desirable under the current circumstances. Even if it didn't achieve a result, he would have the satisfaction of paying off an old score or two.

"You can go back to your barracks, Hogan," he said. "Maybe we will have another talk later, after I have finished with your men."

Once again, he suppressed a laugh at the complacent expression on Hogan's face. The colonel was a master of dissimulation, but he must be worried.

In fact, Hogan was very worried indeed. It was unheard of for the Gestapo to cut an interrogation short after only one question. But no way was he letting Hochstetter see it. "I'll look forward to it, Major," he said cheerfully, as he got up and headed for the door, where he paused only to deliver the snappy salute which so effectively got up the Krauts' noses.

As he left the Kommandantur, he heard Hochstetter's voice behind him, issuing an order to his men: "Bring the next prisoner from the cooler. The _Engländer_. And fetch my briefcase from the car."

There was a note in his voice that Hogan didn't like. Hochstetter was too damned pleased with himself over something. Normally Hogan would put his money on Newkirk to come out best in any encounter, but this time it felt as if Hochstetter had something extra nasty up his sleeve. Hogan turned his collar up, and made for the barracks.

Kinch and LeBeau were in his office, hanging over the coffee pot which contained the speaker connected to the microphone in Klink's office. "Where's Carter?" demanded Hogan curtly.

"Down in the tunnel with Elise," said Kinch. They had all gone onto a first-name basis with their guest, to avoid using her married name; nobody felt quite comfortable with it. "He's got this idea that whenever Newkirk's not around, it's his job to look after her. Something Newkirk said back at the _Weinkeller_, apparently."

"_Mon Colonel_, that filthy _boche _Hochstetter is up to something." LeBeau looked up at Hogan with a deep, angry scowl.

"Yeah. " Hogan folded his arms, leaning back against the upper bunk.

"He couldn't have anything on Newkirk, could he?" asked Kinch.

Hogan considered the idea, started to speak, reconsidered, then shook his head. "Anything's possible. Whatever it is, he's pretty confident about it."

Newkirk got that impression, too, as he was escorted into the office. Hochstetter greeted him quite civilly, which was disturbing in itself, before proceeding to take notice of something Newkirk had hoped he would overlook.

"I see you are limping, Corporal. I trust you haven't been taking part in any unusually hazardous activities recently."

"Fell out of bed, sir," replied Newkirk, with apparent indifference.

"Really?" The major's polite incredulity was worthy of an award. "Sit down."

It was tempting; Newkirk's leg was aching badly again. But if he remained standing, he would keep the height advantage, which was preferable in any confrontation. He sighed unconsciously. "If you don't mind, I'd rather..."

"Sit down." The tone allowed no argument. Newkirk sat, composing his features into an expression of compliant ignorance. Whatever happened, Hochstetter wasn't getting anything from him.

Hochstetter leaned against the desk, regarding him intently. It was unnerving, but Newkirk had been questioned often enough to recognise it as an intimidation technique, and to disregard it. For two minutes, there was silence.

Finally Hochstetter spoke. "I believe you may be acquainted with a relative of mine."

Newkirk's brow furrowed. "Shouldn't think so. Unless you've got relations in Stepney? Come to think of it, there was this geezer living in the room above the greengrocer's - I think he was a gravedigger, or something like..."

"Not quite so distant a relative as that, Newkirk," interrupted Hochstetter caustically. "I'm talking about someone you met in Hammelburg, within the last few days."

That was an easy one to parry; Newkirk had been expecting it. He gave the major a wide-eyed look of astonishment, then laughed. "Major, I haven't been to Hammelburg since the last time I had to have a tooth pulled. This is a prison camp, you know. We're not allowed out on the town. The Kommandant would never stand for it."

"The Kommandant," replied Hochstetter judiciously, "is a complete idiot."

_You got me there__, mate, _thought Newkirk.

The major waited for a reply, then sighed. "Very well, Newkirk. I am prepared to negotiate the matter. Are you familiar with the expression _quid pro quo_? No, of course you're not. So let me put it more simply. I'm willing to offer you an exchange of information."

He opened the briefcase which was lying on Klink's desk, and removed a slender dossier. "I have something here which might be of interest to you," he said. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you know this woman." He laid an identity card on the desk in front of Newkirk, and stood back to watch the effect.

Newkirk didn't say a word. He almost stopped breathing, as he gazed at the photograph on the document. Hochstetter allowed him almost thirty seconds before he spoke again. "Her name is Gretel Weiss. You met her in Hammelburg, about six weeks ago, after you had escaped from Stalag 13. You were arrested in her apartment."

Major Hochstetter was a trained observer, but it would have taken an exceptionally perceptive witness to guess how much it cost Newkirk to keep his voice steady, as he replied: "Yes, I met her. Once."

* * *

Note: "This is Funf speaking." The German spy Funf was a character on the British radio programme _It's That Man Again _(commonly known as _ITMA_) which was extremely popular during the war years. Funf was voiced by Jack Train.


	15. Chapter 15

In Hogan's quarters, the silence was broken by a single sentence, uttered very softly by the colonel: "Oh, you son of a bitch."

Neither LeBeau nor Kinch said a word. Kinch was shaking his head in disbelief, while LeBeau stared at the coffee pot with an expression suggesting he was contemplating storming across the compound to Klink's office and strangling Hochstetter with his bare hands.

The Gestapo major was quite satisfied with the result of his tactic; the prisoner had remained calm, but Hochstetter knew he'd got to him. "Fräulein Weiss spent quite some time with us, not long afterwards," he said. "She maintained that she had seen you more than once."

"No. I only met her the one time." Newkirk was still looking at Gretel's photo. It was all he could do to keep from reaching out and touching it.

"But you would have liked to see her again."

Newkirk shook his head slowly, but found he couldn't say the words to go with it.

"You know, I have been curious," Hochstetter went on. "Most escaping prisoners head for the coast, or Switzerland, as fast as they can. You're the only one I've ever known who stopped off in the nearest town to pick up a barmaid. She must have been something special, at the time. I'm sure you understand, she wasn't at her best during the time I spent with her."

Again, there was no reply, but Newkirk was breathing deeply as he took in what was implied by that last statement.

"Would you like to know where she is now? Because I have that information."

Still no response

"All I require from you is the answer to one very simple question," said Hochstetter. He came closer, and put a hand on Newkirk's shoulder, then leaned forward, and spoke three words, very softly, into Newkirk's ear.

The microphone failed to pick up anything other than a faint incomprehensible whisper, and the listeners in the barracks exchanged startled looks. "What did he say?" said Hogan sharply. Kinch shook his head, spreading out his hands, while LeBeau bent his head closer to the speaker, frowning in concentration.

There was no sound for several seconds, then they heard Newkirk's reply: "I don't know what you mean, Major." Perfectly calm, slightly puzzled; the ideal response to any interrogation question.

LeBeau knew him too well to be fooled. He drew back, his eyes darkening. "Colonel..." he began, then broke off, as the door opened behind Kinch.

"Excuse me, Colonel," said Addison, "but you probably want to know. Two more cars just came in the main gate. Gestapo, from the look of them."

"LeBeau, go and look." Hogan was not willing to miss any part of the conversation in the Kommandant's office. But there was no further sound before LeBeau returned.

"It's Rohmer," he reported. "He's brought half a dozen men with him."

A few moments later, the sound of Rohmer's arrival in Klink's office came through. And Rohmer was not a happy Gestapo.

"Major Hochstetter," he snapped out, "I thought it was made clear in the orders from Berlin, you are to undertake no independent investigations in this matter."

Hochstetter's response was tetchy. "Thank you, Captain. However, unlike you, I am able to handle more than one active case at a time. I am here to question the prisoners about an occurrence at Weizenfeld. An anti-aircraft installation was destroyed by saboteurs, leaving the communications station open to attack by enemy bombers."

"What the hell...? Where did that come from?" murmured Hogan. If only Hochstetter were really here about that; it would be so much simpler.

The same thought had occurred to Newkirk, but he kept it to himself. That last question of Hochstetter's had thrown him, and suddenly the whole affair had turned inside out. But he pushed it to one side; there was an immediate crisis to be sorted before he could start trying to make sense of the wider picture.

Rohmer wasn't buying the major's story. He turned to Newkirk. "Is this true?" he demanded truculently.

Newkirk shrugged. "He's asking a lot of questions," he replied, his manner indicative of being fairly well fed up with it. "I don't know anything about anything, so I can't help him. And if I could, I wouldn't."

He stood up, and met Rohmer's searching gaze without faltering. "Can I go back to the cooler now, sir?"

The captain was taller than Hochstetter, and stood eye-to-eye with Newkirk. For several seconds, he continued his scrutiny, before nodding to one of the men who had come in with him. "Take him away."

For almost a minute, after Newkirk's removal, neither of the two Gestapo officers spoke.

Rohmer picked up the document which still lay on Klink's desk. "Fräulein Weiss," he said, in a pleasant, conversational tone. "Interesting. I've been looking at that case, _Herr Major_. Not one of your finest moments."

Hochstetter didn't so much as blink. The captain shrugged. "Well, she won't be needing identity papers any more, will she?" he remarked, and dropped the card into the waste-paper basket.

"No, she won't," replied Hochstetter coldly, "but her documents are still useful to me." He made no attempt to retrieve the item, but stood back, head tilted back slightly so that he could still look down on the taller man. It was a standard technique of his, and it was generally quite effective. Rohmer's eyes flickered uneasily, before he turned away, and began to remove his gloves.

"Do you know what the rumour is in Berlin at the moment, Major Hochstetter?" he asked.

"I don't listen to rumours, Captain."

"You'll be interested in this one. It concerns yourself, your brother, and your sister-in-law."

He seemed pleased at Hochstetter's reaction to that disclosure, and went on. "Of course, it was very commendable that you were sufficiently impartial to provide the information that led to Captain Hochstetter's arrest - it's a shame it ended so badly, isn't it?" He sent a bright, malicious glance at the major. "However, the unofficial opinion around headquarters isn't quite so favorable. Some people are saying that your motive for informing on your brother was to give yourself a clear run at his wife."

Yet another shock for the listeners across the compound. Hogan had never understood just what was encompassed by the word _gobsmacked_, until now. From the looks on the faces of Kinch and LeBeau, they were as flabbergasted as he was; probably as repulsed, as well.

"Some people have too much time on their hands," replied Hochstetter, after a lengthy pause.

"I met her a few times in Berlin, you know," Rohmer went on. "Quite charming. I'm sure nobody could blame you for taking an interest. But the fact is, she's implicated in her husband's activities, _Herr Major_. So if you know where she is, I suggest you follow your duty."

"I have no idea where she might be." Hochstetter stared him straight in the eyes as he spoke.

Once again, it was Rohmer who blinked first. He looked past Hochstetter for a few seconds, then said abruptly, "For the time being, until your part in your brother's activities is clarified, orders from Berlin have placed all Gestapo investigations in the Hammelburg area under my command. That includes your sabotage case at Weizenfeld. If you intend to continue questioning the prisoners here, it will be under my observation."

"Nothing could give me greater pleasure, Captain," growled Hochstetter. "However, the interview you just interrupted was the last. Unfortunately this line of enquiry has proven to be a dead end."

"In that case, Major, I can proceed with my own interrogations relating to the whereabouts of your sister-in-law," concluded Rohmer, with a smile. "And as I'm already here..."

In the barracks, Hogan straightened up. "Not if I can help it."

Leaving his men staring at each other, he left the barracks and strode over towards Klink's office. As he approached, the Kommandant appeared around the end of the building, returning from his private quarters where he had taken refuge. He peered fretfully at the senior POW officer.

"Hogan, I thought you were confined to barracks," he grumbled.

"By Hochstetter's orders, not yours, Kommandant," replied Hogan briskly. "Now, I don't know about you, but I don't like that man. He's not our type." He noted that Klink drew himself a little upright. "It's not good enough. We deserve a better class of Gestapo," he went on.

With intent, he had allowed his voice to grow slightly shrill, and Klink shrank back. "Now is not a good time, Hogan," he muttered; then, in an undervoice, "There are _two_ of them in there now. Schultz just told me."

"Well, that's just great." Hogan added a few decibels. "The more the merrier. Does General Burkhalter know we've got 'em? "

"Well, of course he..." Klink's voice trailed off, as he suddenly realised he had no idea whether Burkhalter had been consulted. A gleam of spiteful glee illuminated his face. "Hogan, back to your barracks. I'm going to call the general. We'll soon see about this."

He spun on his heel and swept off to his quarters.

Just as Hogan had hoped, the discussion had been sufficiently loud to attract attention from inside the office, and as Klink went out of sight, Captain Rohmer emerged. "What is going on here?" he demanded brusquely. "Who is this man?"

"Colonel Robert Hogan, senior prisoner-of-war officer." Hogan snapped off a salute, and looked enquiringly at the captain.

Rohmer remained standing on the steps, looking down at him with an expression of distaste. "Captain Rohmer. Gestapo, Berlin. What can I do for you, Colonel?"

"I'm here to register a formal protest," said Hogan. He had to buy some time for Klink to make his call. "Major Hochstetter has three of the prisoners locked up in solitary, and has been questioning one of them without either myself or Kommandant Klink being present. Now, the Geneva Prisoner Of War Convention is quite clear..."

"I'm sure it is." Rohmer glanced over his shoulder at Hochstetter, who had followed him out of the office, and was standing back with the air of a man anticipating an enjoyable spectacle, no matter which of the protagonists came off best. "However, we're not in Geneva, Colonel Hogan, and in the Gestapo we make our own rules."

Hogan rolled his eyes upwards. "I know that, of course. But this time, he's gone too far. There are limits, even for the Gestapo, and Major Hochstetter just crossed them."

"Really, Hogan?" said Hochstetter. "And what did I do that has so offended you?"

In a tone of righteous indignation, Hogan replied. "You interrupted our volleyball game." Seeing the look which passed between the two of them, he added, "Yes, I know, it may not sound important to you. But that was the final tryout before deciding on our championship team. We're playing Stalag 9 next week, the winning team goes through to the semifinals. And it's very important that we have a strong side. They're pretty hot stuff at Stalag 9."

Rohmer looked slightly stunned at the turn of the discussion, and glanced at Hochstetter again, as if seeking enlightenment. Hogan decided to push it a little further.

"Of course, if we win that one, the next round should be a walkover. 4th Panzer Division team. I hear they play like girls. It's always the same with the tank corps...Oh, sorry, Captain, were you in a Panzer division? Well, you probably know all about it then." He lowered his voice confidentially. "You know, I heard they took an absolute pasting in an out-of-season match against the Russians at Kursk last year."

Rohmer seemed about to reply, but the words were never spoken. He looked past Hogan, his face contracting into a scowl. Hogan didn't even need to turn his head to know Klink was approaching.

"Ah, gentlemen." There was a triumphant ring in the Kommandant's voice. "I've just been speaking to General Burkhalter. He was most interested to hear that you were here at Stalag 13."

Rohmer and Hochstetter exchanged furious glances. The thought in each man's mind was clear: _You didn't clear it with Burkhalter first...?_

"Ask Rohmer about it." Hochstetter got his shot in before the captain could gather his wits. "He's in charge."

"But you were here first, Major," Rohmer snapped back.

"Now, now. Play nice," interjected Hogan. "Otherwise we won't invite you again."

Klink had no intention of losing the high ground in this battle. "I'm not interested in who is responsible. The simple fact is, neither of you has any authority to question the prisoners." The two Gestapo officers turned their hostile glares from each other and directed them at him, and his resolve wavered. Involuntarily, he moved slightly behind Hogan before he continued. "General Burkhalter will be here himself later this afternoon, after his staff meeting. Until then, his orders are that no further interrogations are to take place, and the prisoners in the cooler are to return to the barracks."

Hochstetter's eyes, sharp with suspicion, turned towards Hogan, who was looking smugly innocent. Rohmer's attention was fixed on Klink. "Kommandant, I think you have made a mistake," he observed. "It is never wise to interfere with Gestapo business."

Klink blanched, and looked appealingly at Hogan. But it was Hochstetter who came to the rescue, albeit in a nasty way. "My dear Captain, if Klink never did anything unwise, he'd never do anything at all," he remarked. "As for the men in the cooler, they can be released. I've finished with them."

"And if I want to question them?"

"They won't be far away. Will they, Kommandant? What is it you're always saying?"

"Nobody escapes from Stalag 13." Hogan beat the Kommandant to it. He wrinkled his brow, and then added, "Well, maybe a guard or two, now and then, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't count."

"Hogan, please...!" whispered Klink desperately. "Go back to your barracks. I'll have your men released."

He scuttled off to speak to Schultz, who was loitering nervously at a safe distance. Rohmer uttered a low, frustrated grunt, and strode back into the office.

"He's very touchy, isn't he?' said Hogan, raising his eyebrows. He turned to Hochstetter with a half-smile suggestive of mild bemusement. "Are they all like that in Berlin? No wonder you moved south, Major."

"Hogan, I suggest you follow the Kommandant's orders, and return to the barracks," replied Hochstetter. "If you will excuse me..."

He swept past Hogan and went towards his car, where his own men were waiting, keeping aloof from the contingent that had arrived with Rohmer. Hogan, strolling back across the yard as if he had nothing of importance on his mind, watched out of the corner of his eye, as Hochstetter spoke briefly to Lehmann. Then the major went back to the Kommandant's office, while Lehmann got into the car and drove towards the gate.

_Now, that's interesting_, thought Hogan. Clearly neither Rohmer nor Hochstetter intended to quit the camp, but the major had sent off the only surviving eyewitness.

Entering the barracks, he glanced around. His manner changed as soon as the door closed behind him. "Right, things are heating up," he said. "LeBeau, how soon can Elise's clothes be ready?"

LeBeau considered. "A day or so, maybe. Newkirk's done a lot of the work already."

"No good. You've got four hours, and you might have to make some alterations." At the look of consternation which crossed LeBeau's face, he added quickly, "I know; but we have to work with what we've got. There's no way I'm sending her out through the emergency tunnel, not with half a dozen SS hanging around within sight of it. There's only one way to get her out of here."

"And how's that, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

Hogan's eyes had that faraway look that meant he was mentally playing out the scheme that he had just devised. He smiled. It could work. It could just work.

"She's going to walk right out the front gate," he said.


	16. Chapter 16

A murmur of astonishment broke out among the men who were listening, and Hogan held up a hand for silence.

"Okay, I know, it's a long shot, but..." He broke off as the door opened, and Abrahams and Newkirk came into the barracks, with Beauchamp just behind them.

"All okay?" said Hogan.

The question was addressed to all three of them, but the keen look was directed at Newkirk. He gave a shrug, and a slight grimace.

The colonel nodded, and turned his attention to the other men. "Did anybody see where the Kommandant's secretary went, after Hochstetter ordered her out of the office?"

"We saw her just now, as we were coming back from the cooler," replied Abrahams. "She asked Schultz to get the typewriter out of the office and take it to Klink's quarters, so she could finish typing up the daily reports."

"Perfect," murmured Hogan, in a tone of deep satisfaction. "Kinch, get Carter up here, and bring him up to speed. And send Elise to my office, but give me a couple of minutes first. Newkirk..." He nodded towards his quarters. Before he made any definite plan, he needed a few words in private.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Newkirk spoke. "You heard?"

"Most of it," replied Hogan. "That was pretty low, even for Hochstetter."

Newkirk smiled wryly. "Never thought I'd be clean-bowled by him, of all people."

"Not quite clean-bowled, Newkirk. He didn't get an answer."

"No. But it threw me a bit when he asked me that. It wasn't what I was expecting, Colonel."

"What did he ask? We couldn't make it out."

There was a crease between Newkirk's eyebrows, and a note of unease in his voice as he answered. "He asked if she was safe."

Then, as Hogan didn't speak, he added, "There was something odd all along about how we got out of that hotel, you know. I remember thinking, it was too easy. They had nobody watching the back stairs, one man on guard at the kitchen door, and nobody in the laneway outside. Colonel, I'm starting to wonder..."

"...whether Hochstetter's been playing his own game all along, trying to keep her out of Rohmer's hands," concluded Hogan. "Yeah, that's occurred to me, too. There were a few things I noticed while we were looking for you." He paused in thought, then added, "Earlier, after you were sent back to the cooler, we heard something that might be relevant. Rohmer made the suggestion that Hochstetter's interest in Elise might not be entirely fraternal."

It took Newkirk a few seconds to take it in.

"If it's true, she doesn't know about it," he said at last. "But, Colonel..." His voice died away, as the deeper implication struck him.

"Uh-huh. Puts a whole new angle on the situation, doesn't it? Come in." Hogan turned his head at the sound of a soft tap on the door.

"You wanted to see her, Colonel?" said Carter. "She's here."

Hogan nodded. "Send her in." He glanced at Newkirk, then at the door, and Newkirk took the hint, waiting only until Elise was inside the room before departing.

"Did Kinch tell you?" asked Hogan.

"He told me I'm leaving today." She spoke very softly; she was still in something of a state of shock.

"Did he tell you anything else?" The puzzled, slightly doubtful look on her face was answer enough. "Okay. This might come as a surprise. We have Klink's office bugged. Earlier we listened in on a conversation between Rohmer and Hochstetter. I hate to bring it up, but it'd be helpful - very helpful - to know whether what we heard is true."

She continued to gaze at him, her eyebrows drawn together. "What did they say?" she asked.

"Rohmer made a particular accusation regarding...okay, it's like this." Hogan paused, trying to find a tactful way to phrase what was a pretty nasty idea. "Has there ever been anything in Hochstetter's behaviour that suggested he might be...well, that he might..."

This was awkward; there didn't seem to be a polite way to ask. However, Elise, whatever her other faults might be, was certainly not slow on the uptake. She stared at him, then uttered a short, bewildered laugh.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," she replied, "but it's quite ridiculous. There's never been the slightest hint of such a thing. He's always been quite civil and pleasant, but...no, nothing like that at all."

Her astonishment was transparently genuine. Newkirk had been right; if there was anything there, she knew nothing about it.

"Fine. Probably Rohmer was just testing the water," concluded Hogan. He decided on the spot to keep her in the dark about Hochstetter's question to Newkirk. It was just possible that the major was playing an even deeper game than they suspected.

He moved on to the main business of the day. "I'm sorry to spring this on you, but it's starting to get a little too warm around here for you. I've got a plan to get you out this afternoon. It's a little risky, and you'll have to head out on your own, but we'll cover for you, and you'll be met by friends once you're outside. If you can keep your head and put on a performance, I think it'll work. Are you game?"

She took the time to think about it before she answered; that was a good sign. Then she nodded, her face pale but her expression determined. "You've got me this far, Colonel. If you believe it can be done, then I'll do my best."

"Good. Come with me." He opened the door, and ushered her out into the main barracks. She glanced nervously at the crowd around the table. Newkirk gave her a little smile, and she slipped past the other men to find a safe haven between him and Carter.

"Okay, pay attention," Hogan said. "Burkhalter will be arriving in about four hours, if his weekly staff meeting finishes on schedule. So that's how long we've got to get Elise ready. She'll head out after Burkhalter gets here; he'll keep Klink and the Gestapo busy for us. Now, the guards on the main gate for the afternoon shift are Kranz and Walther, the new guys. So far they've been on night duty, so they've never seen Klink's secretary up close. So between now and then, Elise has to look as much like Hilda as possible."

Newkirk and LeBeau exchanged looks. They knew now what they'd be doing for the rest of the day.

Hogan continued. "I'll square it with the real Hilda to leave by Gate 3, as if she's going to visit her sister in Meilenheim."

"Think she'll go for it, Colonel?" Kinch sounded doubtful.

"I hope so. It's a big step up from what she's been doing for us," admitted Hogan.

"What about documents?" Newkirk put in. "We haven't started on them yet. I thought we'd have plenty of time."

"Yeah, I know. We'll have to use what's available." He looked away for a moment; Newkirk wasn't going to like this. "Carter, while I'm talking to Hilda, you'll get into Klink's office and find Gretel's identity papers. LeBeau, we'll need you as lookout. The rest of you will stage a diversion outside the barracks, to get Klink out of his quarters and the Gestapo out of his office."

"Colonel, we're confined to barracks," Kinch pointed out.

"No, we're not. At least, we think we're not." Hogan gave him a grin. "Klink rang Burkhalter, and got all of Hochstetter's orders rescinded. And seeing as the exercise period was interrupted, it's only fair that we get another half hour of physical activity. Addison, you said you coached a rugby team, right? Well, now you can coach another one. Only they don't quite understand the rules, so it's going to get a little noisy."

He saw from the looks that passed between the men that they understood exactly how the game was going to go.

"Kinch," he went on. "you'll contact Bruno, and let him know to be at the regular rendezvous point at sixteen thirty. Elise will meet him there, and they'll travel to the coast by train - he knows the routine." He paused, looking around at his crew. "Any questions?'

Newkirk raised his hand. "Just one, Colonel. How do we get the Gestapo out of our hair, once Elise is away?"

"Won't Burkhalter see to that?" said Carter.

"Maybe. But it's a good point, Newkirk. I'm glad you brought it up," observed Hogan. "Kinch, when you reach Bruno, I want to speak to him personally."

"Sure, Colonel. Are we allowed to know why?"

"Because Bruno should be able to help us find something for the Gestapo. Something they've been having trouble with all along," replied Hogan.

"And what might that be, if it's not too much to ask?" said Newkirk.

Hogan raised one eyebrow, and a smile of satisfaction played across his face. "A reliable eye-witness."

The first priority was to contact Bruno. If he couldn't make the rendezvous, there was no point in proceeding. However, there was no need for concern on that score. Bruno was already prepared for departure, and he entered into the spirit of Hogan's other request with an enthusiasm suggesting he'd have liked to be the reliable witness himself.

The next part of the plan was put into effect immediately.

"We've only got ten players," observed Addison. "Not enough for a good match. Five a side's no fun."

"Then call out Barracks 3 as well," said Hogan.

The grin on Addison's face told its own story. He was anticipating a glorious free-for-all. So were the other prisoners. Oh, well, they needed a bit of fun, now and then.

The coach certainly knew how to organise his players; within minutes, he'd sorted them into two teams, explained the basics and got them started. It only took a little longer for the game to go spectacularly wrong. There were five nationalities on the field, each trying to apply the regulations of their own preferred code of football. It was obvious to Newkirk, watching from the barracks, that Addison was perfectly capable of keeping the whole thing under control, and equally obvious that he wasn't making the slightest attempt to do so.

The noise in the compound grew exponentially in both pitch and volume, as discussion of the rules got more heated.

Newkirk waited till he saw the Kommandant appear from behind the office building, before leaning into the tunnel entrance. "The referee just arrived," he called down to Hogan, who was waiting below.

The colonel nodded to Carter and LeBeau. "Okay, let's go. Fast."

Fräulein Hilda already knew a fair bit about what went on at Stalag 13, so she wasn't quite as startled as she might have been, when the wood-stove suddenly pivoted to one side.

"Colonel Hogan," she said, with a slow, welcoming smile.

"LeBeau, keep watch. Carter..." Hogan nodded to the seldom-used connecting door that led to Klink's office.

Cautiously, Carter eased it open a fraction, peered through the gap, then slipped into the office.

Hogan turned his attention to the secretary. "Hilda," he said seriously, "I have to ask you a really big favour."

He was more nervous about this than any other aspect of the scheme. His dealings with Hilda had always been mutually enjoyable as well as mutually beneficial, but the emphasis was on beneficial; he provided her with the small luxuries which were hard to find in town these days, she looked the other way now and then while he transacted a little business. This time he was asking her to actually take part, albeit a small part, in the operation, and he wasn't at all sure how she'd react. She was already looking slightly unsure.

He took both her hands in his own, and looked deep into her eyes. He really liked this girl. If this was one request too many, and she showed any sign of reporting it to the Kommandant, he had no idea what he would do about it. "You already know that sometimes we help passing travellers on their way," he said gravely. "Well, we've got someone who we need to send on today, and with our other visitors, it's not going to be easy."

Hilda tilted her head, a little crease appearing between her perfectly groomed eyebrows as she listened. Hogan tightened his clasp on her fingers. "We're very anxious to keep our friend away from the Gestapo - from Hochstetter. There are a lot of reasons why she needs to keep out of his way."

"Your friend is a woman?" Hilda's voice was neutral; he couldn't tell if she was sympathetic or jealous.

He nodded. "Yes." Then he waited.

She closed her eyes, biting her lip as she considered the situation. Then she looked up at him.

"That man mustn't find her," she said resolutely. "How can I help?"


	17. Chapter 17

A sewing party was in progress in Colonel Hogan's quarters.

He'd left them to it, knowing Newkirk and LeBeau between them would get the job done somehow within the time allowed. They'd do it quicker without interruptions. But he was starting to get anxious; time was running out. He went in to check on progress.

He didn't expect to find Elise taking part; but there she was, stitching around the neckline of a rapidly assembled cotton blouse, while Newkirk, putting haste ahead of perfection, was finishing the hem of a skirt.

"Where's LeBeau?" asked Hogan.

"Down in the tunnel, seeing what we've got in an overcoat," replied Newkirk. He glanced at Elise's handiwork. "Nice work, love."

Her lips twitched into a smile. "Six years in a convent school. At least they taught me one useful thing."

"Only one?" Hogan raised his eyebrows.

Her fingers paused for a moment. "Well, there was something about never allowing oneself to be unchaperoned in the company of strange men. But that doesn't seem to have worked out."

"Lucky there's no strange men here," observed Hogan with a grin. "How's it coming along?"

"Done." Newkirk bit off the thread, and turned out the completed garment. "Just see how it fits, princess. Oh, don't look so shocked. We'll wait outside."

He followed Hogan out of the office, and closed the door. "It's going to be dodgy, Colonel. We've done our best, but she doesn't look much like Hilda. Hasn't got the figure, for a start. She'll pass those two idiots on the gate, but if any of the other guards notice her..."

Hogan nodded, frowning. "Okay, we'll just have to make sure they don't." He considered the problem briefly. "Right, this is how we'll play it. I'll probably be sent for when Burkhalter gets here, and even if I'm not, I'd better go anyway, and keep them distracted. Bruno's lined up the eyewitness to arrive ten minutes later. You and Carter will take Elise through the tunnel to Klink's quarters, and send the girls out when you see the witness coming towards the main gate. Kinch and LeBeau will run interference with the other guards."

He glanced sideways at Newkirk. "Did you finish altering Gretel's identity card?"

Newkirk's expression didn't change. If it was a sore point with him that Elise would be using Gretel's documentation to get out of Germany, he wasn't admitting it. "All done," he said tersely. "But, Colonel..."

"I know. We're having to improvise a lot on this one." Hogan rubbed the back of his neck. "It all comes down to Hochstetter. It's pretty clear he doesn't want Rohmer to find her. I'd love to know what his real angle is."

"He asked if she was safe," murmured Newkirk. "Do you think...?"

"Who knows? The man couldn't lie straight in bed, so anything he says is suspect. He could be trying to let her escape, or there could be something else going on. Either way, he's not getting to her. Not if I have any say in it."

He checked his watch. "If Burkhalter's on time, he should be here in half an hour. As soon as she's ready, take her across to Klink's quarters, but wait in the tunnel till you get the signal from Hilda that the coast is clear."

General Burkhalter did not let them down. His staff car rolled through the gate at precisely sixteen thirty. Hogan, loitering outside the barracks as if by chance, watched with an expression of mild curiosity, as the general extracted his corpulent form from the car. It had never ceased to amaze him that Burkhalter had ever made it into the _Luftwaffe_. The man had all the physical attributes, but none of the redeeming qualities, of a suet dumpling.

Klink, alerted by Schultz to the general's arrival, came scuttling from his quarters, while Captain Rohmer, also in haste, emerged from the office to report. Only Hochstetter held back, standing on the steps of the building, his thumbs hooked over his belt. Across the yard, his eyes met Hogan's, but his expression was unreadable.

Klink and Rohmer closed around the general, both talking at once. He held up one hand; Klink fell silent instantly, but Rohmer continued to speak. There was a momentary lull; Burkhalter looked at Hochstetter, then with a slow pivot of his entire body, turned his attention towards Hogan, who repaid the look with his standard smug grin before sauntering back into the barracks.

"We're on," he told Kinch.

Only two minutes passed before Schultz came for him, but by that time he was busy. Watched by the entire barracks, he held up a tin mess plate on his outstretched fingers, then gave it an upward flick and a spin, catching it neatly on his index finger as it came down again.

"Colonel Hogan," said the sergeant of the guard, "what are you doing?"

"Showing Kinch how to spin plates, Schultz," replied Hogan, as if it were the most everyday of activities.

With the plate still rotating rapidly on the tip of his finger, he curled his arm, passing his hand under his elbow and bringing it around again.

Schultz stared, bemused. "How do you do that?" he asked.

"Professional secret, Schultz. What's up?"

Thus recalled to his duty, Schultz straightened up. "The Kommandant wants to see you in his office at once, Colonel Hogan."

"Well, gee, I don't know, Schultz. I'm pretty busy right now. Okay, get it, men? It's all in the spin; if you get that right, everything else is easy."

"Please, Colonel Hogan," whimpered Schultz. "General Burkhalter is here, and Major Hochstetter. If I do not bring you to the office at once..." He didn't finish, but his chin quivered.

Hogan heaved an exasperated sigh. "Oh, all right, Schultz, but only as a favour to you." He tossed the plate to Kinch, gave him a wink and strolled out of the barracks.

Hilda had wasted no time, once Klink left his quarters. The agreed signal, three taps of her heel on the floor beside the stove, sounded before he'd got to the end of the building. In the tunnel below, Newkirk turned to Carter.

"You go first," he said. He didn't want to admit it, but he was worried about getting up that ladder; he'd struggled a bit getting down from the barracks.

Carter ascended quickly, and turned to help Elise. Newkirk waited till she was out before making the attempt. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, but he didn't reject Carter's helping hand.

The two women were sizing each other up in silence. Now they were side by side, Newkirk could see the differences between them more clearly, and his heart sank as he compared Hilda's striking Nordic beauty to the more elusive charms of Elise's delicate fairness.

_This is never going to work_, he thought.

It had to work. There was no point in thinking anything else. He went to keep watch at the window, while Carter put his ear to the connecting door to the Kommandant's office.

Hogan's arrival interrupted what was shaping into a lively debate between Hochstetter and Rohmer. He glanced around the room, bright-eyed, taking in the situation. Burkhalter, seated behind the desk, with Klink fluttering nervously behind him; Rohmer nearest to the door, Hochstetter standing well back from him. From the way he was standing, head up and his centre of gravity well back, he was getting the worst of it.

Schultz, alive to the atmosphere, hastily retreated to the outer office and closed the door.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" said Hogan. "Because I can come back later."

"Hogan, stay." It was hard to tell whether Burkhalter was growing irritated; his normal state, when at Stalag 13, was one of peevish discontent. "We have just been talking about you."

Hogan tipped his head to one side. "Really, General?"

"Yes. To be more specific," Burkhalter went on, shifting slightly in his chair as if trying to redistribute his weight, "about your conversations this morning with Major Hochstetter, outside the barracks, and after that in this office."

Neither Hochstetter nor Hogan uttered a word, but the look which passed between them was as detailed an exchange as a full briefing. Hogan had never seen the major so completely on the back foot.

Rohmer took a step forward. "Colonel Hogan, would you be so kind as to tell us what that conversation was about?"

_I could land __Hochstetter right in it, right now_.

It was an attractive idea, so attractive that for a moment Hogan was tempted. But he knew he could handle Hochstetter, when the time came. For the moment, there was a larger scheme to be considered. He gave the major a smirk.

"I have no idea. Sorry, Major. It's nothing personal; you're just not very interesting. I kind of tuned out." He wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully, then added, "Something about being out of camp a couple of nights ago, I think."

"The night of the incident at Weizenfeld," put in Hochstetter, obviously for Rohmer's benefit.

"Also the night of the incident at the hotel in Hammelburg." Rohmer wasn't giving any ground at all. "I wonder whether Major Hochstetter asked you anything about that?"

Hogan adopted his most innocent look. "Search me, guys. Was there something going on at Hammelburg? Gee, I miss out on all the good stuff. You might have told me." His tone was a little petulant.

"General, I am sure Hogan had nothing to do with any of this," burbled Klink. "How could he? He was right here in Stalag 13. May I remind you, General..."

"No, you may not." Burkhalter leaned back in his chair. "So you have nothing useful to contribute, Hogan?" Ignoring the wounded look Hogan turned on him, he switched his attention to the two Gestapo. "This does not appear to support your claims. Either of you. Major Hochstetter, let me make this clear to you. When you have more convincing proof of this saboteur theory of yours, you may question the prisoners here to your heart's content. Until then, find something more productive to do with your time."

Hogan had no faith in the edict having any lasting effect.

Burkhalter turned his attention to Rohmer. "As for you, Captain Rohmer, I have no interest in your internal Gestapo squabbles. Whatever you think Hochstetter is up to, it has nothing to do with Stalag 13..."

"With respect, General," Rohmer broke in nervously. "I have authority from Berlin to investigate a certain matter. I believe Major Hochstetter's interrogation of the prisoners may be relevant to that investigation, and I must ask..."

He faltered under the look of astonished outrage on Burkhalter's face, then steeled his nerve and pressed on. "Major Hochstetter was questioning another prisoner when I arrived. If I could be allowed a few words in private with that man..."

The general turned a look of enquiry towards Klink, who hurried to provide additional information. "Corporal Newkirk, sir. From Barracks 2. But I'm quite sure..."

Burkhalter waved a hand at him, and he fell silent. The general considered the request, while Hogan held his breath. On the other side of the door, Carter tensed, and sent a warning look towards Newkirk.

"No," said Burkhalter.

Hogan started breathing again. Too soon, unfortunately.

"Klink, send for the man in question. Rohmer may speak to him," Burkhalter concluded, "but not privately."

Carter turned from the door. "Newkirk!" he hissed. "You better get back to the barracks, fast!"

Newkirk hesitated for barely a second, his eyes turning towards Elise. But he knew there was no choice.

"Sorry, love," he said hastily. "Wanted to see you off, but..."

"Never mind," replied Elise quickly, but she looked stricken.

Carter had already rolled the stove aside, exposing the tunnel entrance beneath, and without any further delay Newkirk lowered himself into the small opening. He descended quickly; too quickly. As he neared the foot of the ladder, he missed the last step, and another shock of pain in his knee was the penalty. There wasn't time to stop and wait for it to ease, but a few muttered words escaped him as he hobbled towards the barracks.

Hogan had gone into delaying mode.

"General Burkhalter, this is just harassment," he protested fiercely. "It's bad enough that Major Hochstetter turns up without so much as a by-your-leave, but now we've got another one waltzing in here uninvited as well. Don't they teach them any manners at Gestapo training school?"

"It is not high on their list of priorities, Hogan," replied Burkhalter dryly. He was not as easy to bamboozle as Klink; he hadn't made general on his looks, that was for sure. "However, your concern is noted, and I will be most happy to address it - once the current matter is cleared up."

"It's also a little hard on Newkirk," Hogan went on. "He's not been at all well, you know."

Burkhalter glanced enquiringly at Klink, who muttered, "Food poisoning, _Herr General_."

"And that's another thing." Hogan went off on a side trail. "General, while you're here, can I bring the decline in food quality to your attention? We had half of Barracks 2 laid up. I blame the beef stew. Between you and me, I think that cow had been dead for a long time. Probably of old age," he added meditatively.

"Hogan, this is not relevant." Klink was getting more agitated by the moment.

"Maybe not. But it's important. Do you know what Carter found in his breakfast this morning?"

"Nobody wants to know that, Hogan." Klink gave a nervous giggle. "I'm sure it was nothing, General. Believe me, the quality of the food supplied to the prisoners is excellent. But not too excellent." The look on Burkhalter's face had generated a quick change of tack. "What I mean is, the prisoners are well fed. Adequately fed. As well as can be expected, under the circumstances."

"Colonel Klink." Rohmer broke in harshly. "Please be kind enough to stop rambling, and send for the prisoner Newkirk."

At a glance of confirmation from Burkhalter, Klink turned and hurried to the door. "Schultz! Fetch Newkirk over from Barracks 2 at once."

Hogan leaned back a little. He'd bought an extra minute or so for Newkirk to get back to the barracks; he hoped it was enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hochstetter had become slightly restless. Rohmer was looking pleased with himself, as well he might. Things could get awkward if he realised Hochstetter was on the right track. And if Hochstetter worked that out himself, the situation would get even worse.

Two minutes passed before Newkirk was brought into the office. Rohmer started forward, but stopped at a glance from Burkhalter. The general was keeping this matter well under his own thumb.

"Corporal Newkirk," he said, "you were interrogated this morning by Major Hochstetter. What did you talk about?"

Newkirk gave Hochstetter a sullen glare. "Something about a barmaid I met in Hammelburg a few weeks ago," he mumbled.

Rohmer was not giving up so easily. "Are you sure, Corporal? Let me see if I can prompt your memory. Did the name Elise Hochstetter come up?"

Klink pricked up his ears, and Burkhalter leaned forward as far as his bulk allowed. This was getting interesting.

"Never heard of her," retorted Newkirk. "Related to him? Don't want to know her, then."

"Rohmer," interrupted Burkhalter impatiently, "explain yourself."

"Major Hochstetter's brother was arrested in Berlin a few days ago," said Rohmer. "We are anxious to interview his wife, who was last seen at the Hotel Alte Residenz in Hammelburg, just before Saturday's bombing raid. Unfortunately, Major Hochstetter is not being very co-operative in this matter. His interest in your prisoners, and particularly in these two men, suggests they may have some involvement in the matter. I believe they are working in collusion with him to protect Frau Hochstetter from arrest."

There was a tense silence; then a splutter from Newkirk, and a stifled snort from Hogan. Klink went pink, and pressed his lips together. Burkhalter began to laugh, a low, wheezing, uncontrollable outpouring of merriment. Even Hochstetter smiled grimly.

"Captain Rohmer," he observed, "I don't think anyone here finds that suggestion plausible. Have you anything a little less ridiculous to put forward?"

* * *

Note: _Of course_ it's all in the spin...but it helps if you use a trick plate.


	18. Chapter 18

In Klink's quarters, Carter remained at the connecting door, listening. Hilda, entering into the spirit of the enterprise, was watching at the window for the first sight of anyone approaching the main gate.

Elise had become very quiet and still. As long as she'd had something to do, as long as Newkirk was on hand to keep her steady, she had been able to suppress any thought of what might happen if it went wrong; now that her chief mainstay had gone, and nothing remained but to wait, the sheer improbability of Hogan's scheme was starting to get to her.

Carter was aware of it, but it was Hilda who spoke. "Don't worry," she said softly. "Just keep your head up, walk as if you know how good you look walking, and use your eyelashes."

A look of understanding passed between the two of them. They could have been from separate planets, so different had their lives been, but some things were always the same.

"Sergeant," added Hilda, a moment later. "There's someone on the road."

Carter moved over to the window, and peered out.

"Oh, boy," he muttered. "The colonel's not going to like that."

A minute later, the visitors reached the gate. From inside Klink's office, Hogan had a perfect view.

_You gotta be kidding me, Bruno!_

The man who was arguing with the sentry at the gate was the café owner Max, whose Underground code name was Mistral; the man Newkirk had gone to for help, the morning after the bombing raid. But it was Max's companion who had caught Hogan's attention. He had met him two days before, when he had visited the café on Newkirk's trail. There was no reason for that young man to be here, unless he was the witness Bruno had lined up.

It was too late to get out of it. The entire success of the operation now depended on whether two Gestapo officers and a _Luftwaffe_ general could be fooled by a nine-year-old boy - Max's son, Rolf.

LeBeau had also spotted the new arrivals, as he left the barracks with Kinch. It shocked him briefly, but he hadn't time to waste on it; they were already immersed in the argument which was to distract the rest of the guards. It grew in acrimony as they crossed the yard, and by the time Corporal Langenscheidt stepped forward to intercept them, LeBeau had given up any pretence of speaking English, and was descending rapidly into the kind of French argot which would have earned him a clip across the ear if his mother had heard him.

"_Halt_!" barked Langenscheidt, in what he obviously hoped was a commanding tone.

LeBeau paid him no attention whatsoever, but Kinch glanced at him. "You know, Louis," he said thoughtfully, "Langenscheidt's just the man we want. He'll know, if anyone does."

The look of scorn on LeBeau's face suggested he had doubts, but at least he ceased his harangue. "If he does know, he won't tell us," he remarked.

"He might. He's not a bad guy, for a Kraut."

A curious expression, half flattered, half suspicious, crossed Langenscheidt's face.

LeBeau shrugged. "Ask him, then. I bet he doesn't know. Schultz wouldn't tell him."

The bait dangled enticingly in front of Langenscheidt. He hesitated, then swallowed it whole.

"Have you heard something about Sergeant Schultz?" he whispered.

Kinch lowered his voice confidentially. "Not exactly _heard_ - but one of the guys in the barracks has this theory..."

With the first appearance of the distraction party, Carter had brought Elise and Hilda out of Klink's quarters. He sent Hilda to the far end of the building, nearest the gate she would be leaving by, and took Elise to wait at the opposite corner, where he had a full view of the main gate.

Elise was clutching his sleeve. They'd done all they could for her, and once Carter gave her the word, she would be on her own until she got out of the camp and safely to the rendezvous point where Bruno was waiting. Carter, sensing her tension, tried to think what Newkirk would say if he were here.

"You don't want to worry about those guys," he whispered. "They aren't so bright. I bet you they wouldn't even notice if it was me going out that gate instead of you."

Her hand relaxed its grip on his arm. "I don't think you have the legs for it," she replied. There was a brief pause, before she murmured, "I never told him."

_Never told who? And what?_ The questions flew into Carter's consciousness, but he knew better than to ask.

"He'd be real proud of you, ma'am," he replied. Whether he was referring to her husband or Newkirk didn't matter; either way, he was sure it was true.

"Will you tell him...?" she began; but there wasn't time to go on. Max and his son were at the gate, explaining their presence to the sentries on duty. The rest of the guards had been drawn into the discussion taking place in front of Barracks 2, which now involved the entire population of that hut. Carter turned and waved towards Hilda, who started at once for Gate 3.

"Okay," he said. "Time to go. Good luck, ma'am."

Elise lifted her head, inhaled deeply, and set off towards the main gate, while Carter edged round the corner of the building and casually strolled in the direction of the other prisoners. He kept a surreptitious watch on her as she approached the sentry box. If anyone noticed something was amiss, the whole scheme would collapse. But Max was on top of the situation. As Elise reached the gate, he suddenly broke into passionate speech, drawing Rolf forward and pointing towards the Kommandant's office. The guards, their attention diverted, waved Elise straight through without more than a glance. She glanced back at Carter, not daring to smile or offer any gesture of farewell, but there was a message in that brief gaze. _Tell him..._

Carter didn't acknowledge it by so much as a nod, but he got the message. He slipped into the discussion group, where Beauchamp was holding forth. "I'm not saying they're the same person," he said, just as Carter came into earshot. "But just think about it - has anyone ever seen Schultz and Lord Beaverbrook together?"

Nobody could remember having done so, and a contemplative silence spread across the compound while they considered the possibility that Beauchamp might be on to something there.

Elise was soon out of sight. From Klink's office, Hogan had watched through the window, while Newkirk, not daring to look, kept the Germans occupied with the best display he'd ever given of active ignorance combined with wilful obstinacy. Rohmer looked about ready to explode, Burkhalter's patience was reaching its limit and Klink's nervousness was reaching stratospheric levels in consequence.

"Newkirk," he stuttered, "you are not helping yourself. If you do not start co-operating, then it's the cooler for you."

"Well, I'm doing my best, sir," replied Newkirk, with a shrug and a scowl. "But it's like I said, all I remember is him asking about that barmaid, and whether I knew his cousin in Stepney. I wasn't paying attention, anyway. I never know what he's going on about."

"That is understandable," remarked Burkhalter, with a disapproving look at Hochstetter. "However, we have yet to get to the bottom of this matter, and your attitude is not helpful."

"Maybe your memory would improve in other surroundings," interposed Rohmer. "General, I think a trip to Gestapo headquarters for this man - both these men - might be advisable."

As Burkhalter prepared to consider the suggestion, and Hogan to protest against it, a timid knock on the door interrupted the silence which had fallen. In response to Klink's almost hysterical "_Herein_!", Schultz pushed the door open and edged halfway into the room.

"_Bitte, Herr Kommandant_," he began hesitantly, "there is a man here who insists on speaking to General Burkhalter at once."

"Not now, Schultz," snapped Klink. "We're busy."

"I told him, _Herr Kommandant_, but he says it is urgent. He says it is about..." Schultz glanced around the room. His voice dropped away to a stage whisper. "About a lady someone in this room is interested in."

Hochstetter stiffened, and shot a look of pure hatred towards Hogan, whose expression was set imperturbably at mildly curious.

"I bet it's about that ruddy barmaid again," muttered Newkirk, and Hochstetter's hostile gaze shifted briefly towards him.

"Show him in," said Burkhalter, with a sideways glance at Hochstetter, and a glitter in his eyes.

It had already been uncomfortably crowded in the office, and the entrance of the man and boy only made things worse. Max cast a look around as he came in, stopping short at sight of the two Gestapo, while Rolf, very neat in what must be his best going-to-visit-Grandma outfit, shrank behind his father a little. He tugged Max's sleeve, and whispered in his ear, and Max nodded.

"General Burkhalter?" he said, clutching his hat between his hands and hunching his shoulders a little. "I was told by your staff I would find you here. My name is Beiersdorf."

No, it wasn't. He continued. "I work as a porter - I mean, I _did_ work as a porter at the Hotel Alte Residenz." Also not true, but mention of the hotel certainly got everyone's attention.

Burkhalter shifted forward in his seat. "Interesting. What can I do for you, Herr Beiersdorf?"

Rolf pulled on his father's sleeve again, and Max held out one hand to silence him. He glanced uneasily at Hochstetter, before continuing. "_Herr General_, normally I would have gone straight to the relevant authority about this, but given what...I mean, I have been told you are a man of integrity, so I thought perhaps..." His voice trailed off into silence.

"Go on," said Burkhalter.

With an air of desperation, Max plunged into his story. "There have been enquiries made in Hammelburg, in relation to a guest of the hotel, a certain Frau Hochstetter."

"And you have information about this matter?" Rohmer put in. Burkhalter sent him a quelling glare, and he subsided.

"I never saw the lady in question," Max faltered. "But I was on the day shift on Friday afternoon, and my son met me at the hotel when I finished work. This is my son, Karl-Heinz."

He drew Rolf forward. The boy's eyes were wide, and he stuck close to his father's side. Burkhalter, recognising the natural trepidation of a child in the presence of intimidating grown-ups, adopted what for him passed for an avuncular manner, and got up from his chair.

"Well, young man," he said, approaching the boy with an ingratiating smile, "and what do you have to tell us?"

Rolf blinked, and his eyes turned to Hochstetter, then Rohmer. After a moment, he murmured, "There was a lady, in the foyer. A very pretty lady with blonde hair."

"And do you know who she was?" Burkhalter asked.

"I didn't know her. But the man who was with her called her Elise."

Burkhalter's eyebrows went up, and he turned his head towards Hochstetter. "You are sure that was the name?"

"Yes, _Herr General_. I remember because there's a girl at school called Elise." Rolf looked a little embarrassed. Apparently he liked that girl.

Rohmer started to speak, but fell silent at a glower from Burkhalter.

"And what about this man?" the general continued. "Can you tell us anything about him?"

Rolf flushed, and lowered his eyes.

"Answer the general, Karl-Heinz," said Max in an urgent, anxious voice.

Rolf's reply came almost in a whisper. "He was Gestapo."

A diversity of expressions appeared on the faces turning at this to stare at Hochstetter. Burkhalter was deeply amused, Rohmer triumphant, and Hogan utterly scandalised. Newkirk shook his head, and rolled his eyes.

Klink obviously couldn't believe his luck at being in the room for this. Unconsciously he crept from behind the desk to stand just behind Burkhalter, his countenance alive with joyous anticipation of what this disclosure would mean for Hochstetter.

The major himself was completely taken aback. He shook his head slowly, and looked again at Hogan. He was breathing fast, and had started to perspire.

Max put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Tell what you heard him say."

As Rolf hesitated, Burkhalter loomed over him. "You have a duty, my boy. Don't be afraid. Nobody in this room will be permitted to harm you, as long as you tell the truth."

_Well, that'll encourage him,_ thought Hogan. So far, unless there really was a girl at his school called Elise, not one word Rolf had said had been true.

Rolf clasped his hands, and rushed into speech. "He was saying to her that she mustn't worry, that he'd see she was safe. And something about catching a train to Switzerland, and that he'd meet her there later, when the fuss died down. There was something about money in a bank account there, as well."

Klink pressed his knuckles against his lips, apparently unable by any other means to control his urge to burst out laughing. This was just too good.

"Anything else?" enquired Burkhalter genially. He was enjoying this almost as much as Klink.

Rolf looked up at his father, then lowered his voice. "He kissed her," he whispered, with all the malicious disapproval a pre-adolescent boy feels for any of that soppy stuff.

"Well!" uttered Hogan, in a tone shrill with outrage. "I'm shocked. What about you, Newkirk?"

"Oh, I'm shocked, all right, sir." Newkirk shook his head again. "But not surprised. They're all the same, these Gestapo. It's a scandal, what they get up to."

"Quiet!" snapped Burkhalter. Then, with a return to amiability, he went on. "This is very interesting, my boy. But let's make absolutely certain of who we are dealing with. You can identify this man?"

"Oh, yes, _Herr General_." Rolf spoke very earnestly, gazing at the general with wide blue eyes. His sincerity could not be doubted. Max was going to have trouble with this kid, when he got a little older.

"And would he be in this room at the moment?"

Rolf nodded, and gripped his fingers even tighter. This was it; the whole scheme would stand or fall by whether he could pull this one off.

"Young man, you have nothing to fear. You are under my protection now. Who was the man you saw at the hotel?"

With a timid glance around, Rolf raised his hand, and pointed. "It was that man there."

Blank amazement held everyone immobile for a second before Rohmer started forward with an incoherent snarl of rage. Rolf dropped the hand which had gestured towards him, and ducked behind his father.

To everyone's further astonishment, not least his own, it was Klink who intervened, stepping between Rohmer and the boy, with his hands held forward.

"Well, Captain Rohmer," said Hochstetter, cutting through the silence, "it seems you have some explaining to do."


	19. Chapter 19

"That lad's going to be just like you when he grows up, Colonel," remarked Newkirk pensively.

"If he doesn't turn into you on the way there," replied Hogan, with a grin.

It was late evening, back in the barracks. The mood was subdued, not at all like the general euphoria which usually followed a successful operation. This one had got too personal; they'd come too close to losing one of their own. But a general sense of contentment reigned, tempered only by the fact that they'd had to let Hochstetter off the hook.

He had been quick to grasp the opportunity, as soon as Rolf had identified Rohmer as the man he'd seen with Elise in Hammelburg. It was pretty certain Hochstetter knew the story was a complete fiction, but he'd reacted just as Hogan had expected.

"You said you were acquainted with my brother's wife, Rohmer. Very well acquainted, so it seems." Hochstetter spoke with the nearest approach to amiability he could achieve, and the effect was quite terrifying

"The boy's lying," Rohmer snarled, glaring past Klink, who remained, almost too scared to move, between the captain and Rolf.

"You think a mere child could invent such a story?" enquired Burkhalter, raising his eyebrows in amused skepticism. "It hardly seems likely, Rohmer."

"You know, General," Hochstetter said, in a mild, thoughtful tone, "there have been certain...irregularities about this investigation. It was almost as if someone was trying to sabotage the inquiry from inside."

"Gee, I wonder who would do such a thing," said Hogan.

"Hogan, be quiet!" hissed Klink.

"Well, I'm sorry, Kommandant, but after all the trouble and inconvenience we've gone through, it's a bit much to learn it was the Gestapo all along," Hogan's expression of wounded innocence was beautiful. Newkirk didn't dare look at him. "And it's not just us, sir. I mean, you're a busy man, you don't have time for these distractions. And General Burkhalter took time off from running the war, just for this."

"_Herr General_, this is a conspiracy," Rohmer broke in desperately. "If anyone has a reason to protect the woman, it must be Major Hochstetter. His brother..."

Hochstetter shook his head, with a smile of tolerant pity. "No, Rohmer. My brother was a traitor, and got what he deserved." His voice turned harsh, and his lips twisted as he spoke. "I can assure you, I have acted according to my duty throughout this affair. Whereas you, apparently..."

"That will do, Hochstetter." Burkhalter's cold acidic voice cut through the discussion. "This matter has taken up enough of my time. As it appears to be an internal Gestapo matter after all, I see no reason why you cannot continue your discussion at your own headquarters, and allow Klink to get on with his own work - at least, as much as he ever does." He turned his head, scrutinising Rohmer with disdain. "Under the circumstances, Rohmer, I think you should consider yourself under arrest."

Rohmer burst into fresh protests, but Hochstetter was already striding to the door to summon his men. He had the upper hand now, and meant to keep it.

General Burkhalter had moved on to Max. "Herr Beiersdorf, you will provide Colonel Klink with your details. In the event that Major Hochstetter requires any further information from you or your son, Klink will act as liaison. As for you two..." His reptilian gaze turned to Hogan and Newkirk. "You are dismissed."

"Well, that's us told, sir," murmured Newkirk.

He gave Rolf a thoughtful glance as he left the office in Hogan's wake. The boy had put on a beautiful performance, but Newkirk wasn't fooled; he'd been just the same at that age, and he knew Rolf had thoroughly enjoyed himself that afternoon. Hogan, who'd been something of a handful himself, recognised the signs just as clearly.

Hence the exchange of remarks later in the evening.

"She'll be almost at Düsseldorf by now." Newkirk, sitting on the bench by the table in the centre of the barracks, stretched out his leg, and winced. "If everything went according to plan, that is."

"I think we can trust Bruno to make sure it goes smoothly," said Hogan, leaning back and tilting his chair.

"Her, too. Considering what I thought, when I first met her..." Newkirk shook his head, with a smile. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then glanced up and met Hogan's quizzical look. "Alright, I know what you're thinking," he said. "But it never crossed my mind. Truth be told, Colonel, I didn't like her above half. Besides which, I was too bloody scared."

"Gretel?"

Newkirk smiled in acknowledgement, but didn't reply. That was over and done with; really over and done with now, he hoped.

"Colonel, can I have a word?" Carter had been standing behind Hogan for almost a minute, trying to get his attention. "It's sort of private," he added, with an apologetic glance at Newkirk.

"Oh, blimey, Carter, what have you been up to?" murmured Newkirk. "I'll have to start keeping an eye on you."

Hogan grinned, allowed his chair to right itself and nodded towards his quarters. "My office," he said.

"It's about her, Colonel," said Carter, as soon as the door had closed behind them. "Elise, I mean. Before she left, she asked me to tell Newkirk something. And I'm not sure I should say anything about it."

"What was it?" asked Hogan, tilting his head to one side.

"That's the problem. She didn't have time to tell me. But whatever it was, she really wanted him to know."

Hogan frowned as he thought through the possibilities. He went to the door, and opened it slightly. He could see Newkirk, holding forth to Kinch and LeBeau about goodness only knew what, looking more relaxed, and more at ease, than he had for six weeks past. Only three days ago, he'd been outside the circle; now he was back where he belonged, back where he'd been before Gretel Weiss had entered his life. If he'd saved Elise, it seemed she'd rescued him, as well.

That long night and day in Hammelburg had brought the two of them closer together in a short time than most people managed after years of daily contact. It wasn't impossible that Elise might feel something more than friendship towards the man who had brought her safely through, and that she might have wanted to let him know. But Hogan wasn't having it. Most likely she'd regret it, once she had time to think it through. Probably they'd never meet again. There was no point in stirring things up, just when they were settling down.

"Tell him she said thanks." Hogan spoke decisively. "That's all it would have been, Carter."

The last minutes of that hectic day ran towards midnight. On a railway platform, under a cold bright moon, a pretty, fair-haired woman and a skinny man with a strong Alstatian accent changed trains, on their way to the coast. Further east, an English corporal lay awake amongst his sleeping barracks mates, following their journey in his imagination. And in his office at Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg, Wolfgang Hochstetter stood at the window, gazing out across the town towards the site of the Hotel Alte Residenz.

Only three days had passed, but it felt like a lifetime.

He had spoken the truth, when he told Rohmer he'd followed his duty. But duty isn't always clear-cut, and a man can have more than one loyalty. Hochstetter had given up every allegiance in favour of the Reich, except one; duty to family still had a hold on him.

The last conversation he would ever have with his brother still rang in his ears.

_"Wolfgang? I thought we agreed, you wouldn't call me."_

_"It's urgent, Stefan. You can't wait until tomorrow. Take your wife and go, immediately."_

_"Elise is already in Hammelburg. Wolf, what's happened?"_

_"Things are moving faster than I expected. Stefan, you have to get out now."_

_"...No. I can't. Not until I know she is safe. Wolf, you have to make the call now. If you wait, you'll be under suspicion, too. You won't be able to help her. You have to save Elise for me. Please, Wolfgang. Save her for me."_

And Wolfgang had promised to save her, if he could.

The situation had turned out better than he had feared it might, although he couldn't yet contemplate Stefan's death with composure. At least he'd kept his word, and Stefan's last request had been fulfilled. Elise was safe. Papa Bear knew his business too well for there to be any doubt.

Hochstetter would have preferred to see to her escape himself, if only she had been willing to trust him, instead of placing her faith in the unknown man at the hotel. Stefan had obviously never told her his brother was in on the escape plan. It had nearly ended in disaster for her, thanks to the RAF, but somehow, between them - the dark-haired foreigner, the as-yet unidentified _Abwehr_ colonel, the barman at the _Weinkeller_ - they'd pulled it off.

He'd even helped them, delaying Rohmer every step of the way as he tracked them through the town, holding back the information about the_ Luftwaffe_ disguise, keeping the witness Lehmann out of the picture. But there was only so much he could do, as long as she ran from him. It had taken someone cleverer, someone with better contacts than he could call upon, to bring the matter to a safe conclusion. All he could do to help was to make sure they acted fast, by applying a little pressure.

It had shocked him when Rohmer had insinuated there was more between Hochstetter and Elise than there should, or ever could, have been. Whether Papa Bear had known about that or not, he'd certainly turned the tables very neatly, and even if he'd had to slander Elise, it had been worth it to see the look on Rohmer's face. _Poetic justice_, thought the man for whom poetry had long been a closed book.

Hochstetter had no expectation of finding the boy and his father again. Their part done, they would disappear back into the general population. But it didn't matter. Let an investigation into Rohmer's activities begin, and something would soon be found to hang him with. Nobody in the Gestapo was entirely clean.

He wondered briefly about those three men. The barman was almost certainly part of the Hammelburg Underground; he'd never resurface. Hochstetter would have been prepared to put money on the probability of the _Luftwaffe_ uniform having been worn by Newkirk, but he knew he'd never prove it. Colonel Tauber remained unidentified, for now.

_I will find him._ There was no doubt in Hochstetter's mind. With Stefan's death, the ties to family were broken, and his duty was no longer divided. From now on, he could direct all his energies towards the service of the Reich, and to one goal.

He would have them. One day, he would have them.


End file.
